WALT   WHITMAN 

THE  MAN  ' 


WAI/T  WHITMAN,   1889 — AGED   70. 


Frontispiece 


WALT  WHITMAN 

THE  MAN 


BY 

THOMAS    DONALDSON 

\\ 


"  What  about  my  hundred  pages  that  I  am  getting  out  about 
you?"— THOMAS  DONALDSON. 
"  Go  or,  Tom,  go  on— and  God  be  with  you."— WALT  WHITMAN. 

At  a  birthday  dinner  at  his  house  at  Camden,  N.  J., 

1, 1891. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  FACSIMILES 


NEW  YORK 
FRANCIS  P.   HARPER 

1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 

BY 
THOMAS  DONALDSON. 


All  rights  reserved. 


TO 

COLONEL  JOSEPH  M.  BENNETT 
OF 

PHILADELPHIA,    PA. 

AS  A  SOUVENIR  OF  A  LONG  AND  AGREEABLE 
FRIENDSHIP 


PREFACE. 


THE  object  of  this  book  is  to  give  the 
public  an  insight  into  the  life  and  habits 
of  Mr.  Whitman,  as  I  saw  it  and  them. 

Whitman,  the  author,  has  been  done 
and  doubly  done,  and  the  end  is  not  yet. 
Whitman,  the  man,  seems  to  have  been 
considered  as  merely  secondary.  In  some 
phases,  there  was  more  in  the  man  than 
in  his  works. 

For  many  years  I  took  notes  of  familiar 
chats  and  interviews  which  marked  my 
relations  with  Mr.  Whitman.  I  had, 
from  boyhood,  formed  the  habit  of  keep 
ing  such  notes  of  the  utterances  of  public 
men,  until  it  grew  into  the  habit  of  put 
ting  upon  paper  almost  all  the  incidents 
of  daily  life. 

I  had  long  known  Mr.  Whitman.  From 
1876  until  1892  the  intimacy  was  con- 


6  PREFACE. 

stant.  Now  and  then,  as  in  one  or  two 
instances  cited,  I  shall  use  these  early 
notes  to  show  how  the  opinion  of  the 
man,  so  early  formed,  was  more  than  con 
firmed  in  after  years. 

I  knew  him  when  he  was  capable  of 
evil,  had  he  desired  to  be,  or  do  evil,  and 
in  all  that  period  I  found  him  to  be  a 
man  of  honor  ;  just,  brave,  and  simple, 
in  all  worldly  thought  and  action.  He 
loved  humanity,  while  holding  himself 
aloof  from  close  contact  with  it.  Suffer 
ing  appealed  to  him.  Sickness  invoked 
his  aid.  He  regarded  poverty  as  a  dis 
pensation  of  nature,  and  never  turned  the 
cold  shoulder  to  its  appeals.  He  did  not 
claim  that  the  world  owed  him  a  living, 
but  only  asked  that  it  permit  him  to 
make  one  for  himself.  To  this  end — in 
health,  he  worked,  and,  when  out  of 
health,  he  worked. 

Mr.  Whitman  seldom  sought  the 
society  of  noted  men  and  women.  He 
welcomed  such  as  called  upon  him,  but 
visited  few.  I  would  call  him  an  entirely 
reserved  man.  Comradeship,  in  its  usual 
acceptance,  had  no  charm  for  him.  He 


PREFACE.  7 

did  not  smoke,  and  had  no  convivial,  or 
club  habits.  He  did  not  like  or  use 
stimulants  except  as  medicine  and  even 
eschewed  tea  and  coffee.  He  was  not  a 
rollicking  man,  nor  a  drinking  man.  He 
was  never  sensational,  and  was  not 
"loud"  in  manner  or  actions.  His  dig 
nity  was  inborn  and  easily  worn.  He 
was,  in  fact,  not  well  fitted  for  general 
social  life.  He  could  not  be  a  "good 
fellow"  in  the  general  sense  of  that  term, 
for  it  was  not  in  him.  No  one  dared  to 
slap  him  on  the  back  and  say  "  Hello, 
Walt!" 

He  was  emphatically  a  thinking  man, 
a  delver  in  thought.  His  effort  was  to 
reach  conclusions  through  reflection  and 
observation,  and  then  to  give  them 
written  expression  as  he  was  not  an 
orator  or  a  speaker.  His  views  as  to 
comradeship  are  expressed  in  an  extract 
from  one  of  his  notebooks.  "Write  a 
poem  :  embodying  the  idea :  I  wander 
along  in  life,  hardly  ever  meeting  with 
comrades.  My  life  has  not  been  occupied 
and  drawn  out  by  love  for  comrades,  for 
I  have  not  met  them.  Therefore,  I  have 


8  PREFACE. 

put  by  passionate  love  of  comrades  in 
my  poems." 

One  usually  expects  too  much  in  private 
chat  with  persons  who  have  national  or 
international  literary  reputations.  Such 
people  are  always  to  be  on  dress  parade 
to  visitors — at  least,  the  visitors  assume 
that  they  should  be — and  great  thoughts 
are  expected  with  each  speech.  During 
the  many  years  I  saw  Mr.  Whitman  and 
was  near  him,  he  never  seemed  on  dress 
parade  to  me.  While  we  had  many  seri 
ous  conversations,  I  do  not  recall  very 
many  great  thoughts  in  talk  from  him. 
Whitman  with  the  pen  was  one  man — 
Whitman  in  private  life  was  another  man. 
Emphatically,  he  was  not  a  good  or  a 
fluent  talker.  Men  who  write  well 
seldom  are.  His  mind  moved  slowly ; 
impressions  were  quickly  made  in  his 
mind,  but  his  speech  and  ideas  came 
slowly.  He  seemed  frequently  as  if 
mentally  groping. 

While  a  distinct  personality,  there  was 
nothing  offensive  in  Mr.  Whitman's  man 
ners  or  habits.  He  was  benevolent  by 
nature.  In  charity  or  otherwise  he 


PREFACE.  9 

wanted  to  give  more  than  he  had  or  could 
afford.  He  would  send  his  photograph 
or  a  book  to  friends  whom  he  liked,  or  to 
those  who  did  him  a  service.  Sometimes 
he  would  send  to,  or  give  me,  a  package 
of  manuscripts.  He  knew  my  purpose  of 
making  a  bit  of  a  book  about  him,  and 
seemed  by  such  gifts  to  me  to  indicate 
what  he  thought  might  be  of  value  to  me 
in  such  work.  He  knew  that  I  would  not 
bother  the  public  with  my  views  of  his 
work  solely,  but  would  rather  present 
the  man  Whitman  in  his  everyday  man 
ner,  and  this  has  been  my  aim. 

THOMAS  DONALDSON. 

PHILADELPHIA,  PA., 

February  29,  1896. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  MR.  WHITMAN  IN  WASHINGTON,  1862-73,  .  17 

II.  MR.  WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN,  1873-92,      .  .  23 

III.  MR.  WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN  (continued),  .  53 

IV.  MR.  WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN  (continued),  .  70 
V.  MR.  WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN  (concluded),  .  88 

VI.    WALT  WHITMAN  AS  A  LECTURER,       .        .  103 
VII.    WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS,  HOPES, 
EXPECTED    LITERARY    RESULTS,    AND 
RELIGIOUS  VIEWS,          .        .        .        .111 
VIII.     WALT    WHITMAN'S    SERVICES    TO    THE 
UNION  IN  THE  WAR  OP  THE  REBELLION, 

1862-65, 141 

IX.    MR.  WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY.  1885,  172 
X.    MR.    WHITMAN'S    FRIENDS   AND    CORRE 
SPONDENTS,  1872-92,      ....  194 
XI.    MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST   ILLNESS,   DEATH, 

AND  BURIAL,  1891-92,     .         .        .        .249 
11 


ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  FACSIMILES. 


FACING  PAGE 

POBTRAIT  OF  WALT  WHITMAN,  1889  (hitherto  un 
published),  Title 

FACSIMILE  OF  POSTAL  CARD  FROM  WALT  WHIT 
MAN,  46 

FACSIMILE  OF  SUBJECT  FOR  A  POEM,  .        .      73 

FACSIMILE  OF  POEM  "GOING  SOMEWHERE,"  IN 

WHITMAN'S  AUTOGRAPH,  ....  74 

FACSIMILE  OF  NOTE  OF  MR.  WHITMAN  ON  WHIT- 
TIER,  85 

FACSIMILE  OF  A  COMPLETED  POEM  OF  MR.  WHIT 
MAN'S  "  THE  DISMANTLED  SHIP,"  SHOWING 
CORRECTIONS, 103 

FACSIMILE  OF  "  THE  HOSPITAL  GAZETTE,"  JAN 
UARY  13,  1864, 141 

FACSIMILE  OF  SECRETARY  CHASES  OPINION  OF 
WALT  WHITMAN  GIVEN  IN  MR.  WHIT 
MAN'S  AUTOGRAPH 156 

13 


14      ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  FACSIMILES. 

FACING  PAGE 

FACSIMILE  OF  ENVELOPE  ADDRESSED  TO  HIM 
SELF  IN  MH.  WHITMAN'S  AUTOGRAPH,           .  159 
FACSIMILE  OF  AN  ARMY  PASS  OF  MR.  WHITMAN'S,  160 
MR.  WHITMAN  IN  HIS  BUGGY,  OCTOBER,  1886,      .  172 
FACSIMILE  OF  LETTER  FROM  ALFRED  TENNYSON 

TO  MR.  WHITMAN, 194 

MR.  WHITMAN'S  GREAT  ARMCHAIR,      .        .        .  249 


WALT  WHITMAN,    1819-92. 


Walt  (Walter)  Whitman,  born  on  a  farm,  West  Hills, 
near  Huntington,  Suffolk  County,  Long  Island,  New 
York,  May  31,  1819.  He  was  the  son  of  Walter  W. 
Whitman,  a  carpenter,  and  Louisa  Van  Velsor,  his  wife, 
and  was  the  second  child  of  a  family  of  nine  children, 
two  girls  and  seven  boys.  Walt  Whitman  died  at 
Camden,  N.  J.,  Saturday,  March  26,  1892,  aged  about 
seventy-three  years.  Buried  at  Harleigh  Cemetery, 
near  Camden.  School-teacher,  printer,  publisher, 
house-builder,  clerk,  editor,  soldiers'  nurse,  writer, 
author,  and  poet.  Schoolboy  in  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. ,  1824- 
28.  Clerk  in  lawyer's  office,  Brooklyn,  1830-32.  Edu 
cated  in  the  public  schools  of  Brooklyn.  Worked  in 
printing  offices  from  1834  to  1835.  Family  returned 
to  the  country  in  1835.  Worked  in  a  printing  office  in 
New  York  City,  1836-37.  Taught  school  on  Long 
Island,  1837-38.  Started  and  published  a  weekly  paper 
at  Huntington,  Long  Island,  1839-40.  Returned  to 
Brooklyn  in  1840.  Worked  as  a  printer  and  wrote 
poetry  and  prose  from  1840  to  1848.  Began  to  roam 
over  the  West  and  South  in  1848.  On  editorial  staff 
of  Daily  Crescent,  New  Orleans,  1848.  Returned  to 
Brooklyn  in  1848.  Editor  Daily  Eagle,  Brooklyn,  1848- 
49.  In  1850-62  wrote  editorials,  magazine  articles, 

15 


16  WALT  WHITMAN,  1819-92. 

.•"•  and1,  poetjy,;  £n<i  built  and  sold  houses  in  Brooklyn 
(his  Kitliei~Vat3  ft  carpenter  and  builder),  and  printed  (in 

.;  •' .IB&O)- a.  daily. and -weekly  paper  called  the  Freeman. 

'  •''•Incuecll  iandi  tfdi'j.ed  t"  Leaves  of  Grass"  in  Brooklyn  in 
1855.  (A  Fremont  Republican  in  1856.)  Went  to 
Washington  en  route  to  the  battlefield  of  Fredericks- 
burg,  December  14,  1862,  to  aid  his  wounded  brother, 
Colonel  George  W.  Whitman,  Lieutenant-colonel  Fifty- 
first  New  York  Volunteer  Infantry.  Washington  and 
vicinity  in  field,  camp,  and  City  Hospitals,  and  on  the 
battlefields  of  the  War  of  the  Eebellion,  from  Decem 
ber,  1862,  to  July,  1865.  Clerk  in  several  Government 
offices  at  Washington,  and  doing  literary  work  and 
publishing  his  books,  1865-73.  Visited  Denver  and 
the  West,  1879.  Resident  of  Camden,  N.  J.,  from 
1873  to  1892,  where  he  followed  the  calling  of  a  poet, 
author,  and  publisher. 


WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MR.  WHITMAN  IN  WASHINGTON,  1862-73. 

As  a  Nurse  to  Soldiers  in  the  War  of  the  Rebellion— Clerk  in  the 
Indian  Office— In  the  Offices  of  the  Solicitor  of  Treasury  and 
Attorney  General — Removal  from  Office — Queer  Morality  of 
Some  Active  in  his  Removal — His  Associates  while  in  Washing 
ton — Anecdote  of  a  Snorer — Secretary  Chase  Refuses  Him  a 
Position  in  the  Treasury  Department — Leaves  Washington,  1873. 

NO  man  tells  the  public  the  whole 
story  of  his  life.  He  may  say  that 
he  does,  but  he  does  not.  Only  mur 
derers  who  seek  fame  through  villainy  tell 
the  story  of  their  lives,  and  usually  much 
more.  I  have  never  known  a  man,  out 
side  of  a  convicted  murderer,  who  had 
the  courage  to  tell  all  of  his  life.  Women 
may,  in  time,  do  it,  but  not  now. 

Mr.  Whitman  never  told  the  public  the 
story  of  his  life.  I  do  not  now  propose 
to  tell  it  for  him. 


18  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

His  life  as  I  knew  it  was  for  two  peri 
ods  :  First,  in  Washington  from  1862  to 
1873,  and  in  Camden,  New  Jersey,  from 
the  summer  of  1873  to  his  death,  March 
26,  1892. 

My  almost  entire  personal  reminis 
cence  of  him  given  in  this  volume  is 
while  he  resided  in  Camden. 

Mr.  Whitman  resided  in  Washington 
from  December,  1862,  to  the  summer  of 
1873.  He  was  in  and  about  the  hospitals 
and  battlefields  from  1862  to  1866  as  a 
nurse  and  an  aid  to  the  surgeons. 

He  did  duty  as  a  clerk  in  Washington 
during  1865,  and  to  1873  in  the  Indian 
office  of  the  Interior  Department,  and  in 
the  office  of  the  Solicitor  of  the  Treasury 
and  the  office  of  the  Attorney  General. 
He  resigned  from  the  last  in  1873,  after 
his  first  stroke  of  paralysis  and  after  the 
death  of  his  mother.  Then  he  came  to 
Camden  to  live,  where  he  resided  some 
nineteen  years,  and  until  his  death.  In 
the  mean  time  in  Washington,  aside  from 
his  war  and  clerical  labors,  he  did  literary 
work,  and  published  some  volumes. 

Mr.   Whitman  was  dropped  from  the 


MR.  WHITMAN  IN  WASHINGTON.       19 

Interior  Department  as  a  clerk  because 
of  the  assumed  immorality  of  "  Leaves 
of  Grass."  Subsequent  to  this  removal 
and  being  refused  office  again  in  Wash 
ington,  it  was  developed  that  persons 
most  active  in  these  deeds  against  Mr. 
Whitman  were  of  queer  personal  moral 
ity.  One  used  the  public  coals,  carpets, 
and  employees  in  his  house  for  his  pri 
vate  use ;  and  it  was  reported  that 
another  made  a  convenience  of  a  person 
employed  in  his  household.  Mr.  Whit 
man  gave  a  quiet  chuckle  when  these 
things  were  recalled,  and  said  nothing. 

The  discharge  of  Mr.  Whitman  from 
the  Interior  Department  on  June  30, 1865, 
was  thus  noted  abroad  : 

Before  the  end  of  the  war  Whitman  received 
a  clerkship  in  the  Department  of  the  Interior  at 
Washington.  Soon  after  this  appointment,  the 
Chief  Secretary,  Mr.  James  Harlan,  discharged 
him  "because  he  was  the  author  of  an  indecent 
book. "  Mr.  Harlan,  it  appears,  had  used  his  liberty 
as  chief  of  this  State  office  to  inspect  his  clerk's 
desk  and  found  in  it  an  annotated  copy  of  ' '  Leaves 
of  Grass."  That  happened  in  the  summer  of 
1865.  — Waft  Whitman,  A  Study,  p.  xxxi.  John 
Addington  Symonds,  1893. 


20         WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

While  in  Washington  Mr.  Whitman 
was  closely  associated  with  John  Bur 
roughs,  William  D.  O'Connor,  and  C.  W. 
Eldredge,  a  coterie  of  able  and  appre 
ciative  men.  These  men  were  close  in 
friendship  and  were  temperate  in  habits 
and  thought.  Mrs.  O'Connor  nursed 
Mr.  Whitman  through  his  first  stroke  of 
paralysis. 

While  Mr.  Whitman  lived  in  Wash 
ington  he  boarded  in  1866,  fora  time,  at 
the  house  of  Mr.  Fletcher,  I  think,  who 
was  Chief  of  the  Passport  Bureau  of  the 
State  Department,  and  a  delicate,  ner 
vous,  slightly  built  man.  Mr.  Whitman 
was  then  robust,  and  almost  a  giant.  In 
the  house  were  several  other  boarders, 
and  two  or  three  of  them  were  dreadful 
snorers.  Mr.  Whitman  particularly  dis 
liked  snorers,  and  expostulated  with 
them  many  times,  but  to  no  purpose. 
Worn  out  and  sleepless,  one  night,  Whit 
man  got  out  of  bed,  went  down  to  the 
street,  procured  a  round  bowlder  of  nearly 
fifty  pounds'  weight,  carried  it  into  the 
house,  up  to  and  opposite  the  room  of 
the  snorers.  He  then  raised  it  high,  and 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  WASHINGTON.        21 

let  it  drop  on  the  floor.  The  snorers  and 
everybody  else  awakened !  The  land 
lord,  in  great  anger,  rushed  at  Whitman, 
and  threatened  to  throw  him  into  the 
street.  Mr.  Whitman  looked  down  at 
him  with  a  soft  smile,  and  then  went 
solemnly  downstairs  to  his  room.  Never 
a  word  spake  he  ! 

I  obtained  from  him,  from  time  to  time, 
bits  of  his  life  and  experiences  in  Wash 
ington,  during  the  War  and  afterward. 
He  was  reluctant  to  speak  of  his  official 
life  in  Washington.  His  letters  from 
that  city  to  friends  in  the  North,  appeal 
ing  for  aid  to  assist  wounded  and  sick 
Union  soldiers  at  the  front,  are  most 
pathetic.  The  answers  were  frank, 
kindly,  and  in  aid  of  his  work.  I  was 
present  when  a  friend  spoke  of  his  official 
life  at  Washington,  and  discussed  the 
men  or  officials  who  dismissed  him.  We 
were  sitting  on  chairs  beneath  the  large 
tree  in  front  of  his  Mickle  Street  house 
when  the  chat  occurred.  Mr.  Whitman 
usually  sat  facing  the  east,  and  with  one 
foot  against  the  tree.  The  chairs  were 
ordinary  wooden  ones.  Mr.  Whitman 


22  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

told  us  of  how  he  tried  to  get  employ 
ment  in  the  Treasury  Department,  under 
Secretary  Chase — as  he  did  in  other  De 
partments.  John  T.  Trowbridge  inter 
viewed  Mr.  Chase  in  1863  and  asked  him 
to  give  Mr.  Whitman  employment.  Mr. 
Chase  emphatically  refused.  Mr.  Whit 
man's  minute  of  the  affair,  in  his  auto 
graph,  is  given  in  facsimile. 

As  is  noted,  Mr.  Whitman's  Washing 
ton  life  ended  in  1873,  and  I  do  not  think 
that  he  visited  that  city  again  but  once. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MR.    WHITMAN   IN   CAMDEN,    1873-92. 

Mr.  Whitman  no  Idler— Author's  Edition  of  "  Leaves  of  Grass  " 
—Moves  to  Mickle  Street— Sources  of  Income— Help  from 
Home  and  Abroad— The  English  Circular  Regarding  his  Con 
dition  and  his  Books— Letter  to  W.  M.  Rossetti— Publishing 
Connection  with  Rees  Welsh  and  David  McKay— Mr.  Whit 
man's  Physical  Peculiarities  and  Afflictions— His  Affection 
for  Children— His  Rides  on  the  Horse  Cars— Love  of  Nature- 
Simplicity  of  Manners— Person  and  Dress— Two  Minutes  or 
Notes  of  his  Visits  to  me. 

MANY  persons  got  and  have  the  im 
pression  that  Mr.  Whitman,  while 
in  Camden  from  1873  to  1892  (or  elsewhere 
prior  to  1873),  the  time  of  his  death,  was 
a  mere  dawdler,  or  literary  adventurer, 
living  on  charity.  In  1873-74-75  he  was 
so  ill  that  he  could  hardly  work.  He 
had  a  small  sum  of  money  on  hand,  saved 
from  his  salary  while  a  clerk  in  Washing 
ton.  He  did  not  do  much  in  the  way  of 
work,  except  now  and  then  a  newspaper 
or  magazine  article,  and  to  revise  his 
"  Leaves  of  Grass,"  and  get  out  what  he 


24  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

called  his  "  Author's  Edition."  (Still  he 
earned  what  he  ate.)  This  work  he  sold 
from  1875.  His  brother  aided  him  and 
he  lived  with  him  until  1884.  After  this 
he  went  to  the  Mickle  Street  house. 
In  1880  his  book  had  an  unusual  sale, 
which  continued  until  1888.  He  was, 
in  the  mean  time,  thanks  to  Julius  Cham- 
bers,  employed  at  a  monthly  salary 
on  the  New  York  Herald.  He  worked 
whenever,  he  was  able.  His  lectures  real 
ized  him  large  sums  of  money.  The 
North  American  Review,  the  Century, 
the  McClure  Syndicate,  and  other  publi 
cations,  paid  him  liberally  for  his  articles. 
From  1882  to  his  death  the  sale  of  his 
books  gave  him  an  income  sufficient  to 
live  on.  There  were  two  subscriptions 
raised  for  him  in  England,  one  of  which 
gave  him  some  money.  Gentlemen,  old 
friends,  also  at  times  sent  him  presents 
of  money.  After  1882  there  was  a 
settled  determination  in  the  United  States 
that  Mr.  Whitman  should  not  want  for 
the  essentials  of  a  good  livelihood,  and 
this  was  faithfully  seen  to.  His  English 
friends  were  at  all  times  anxious  to  aid 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  C AMD  EN.  25 

him  with  money,  and  often  did  so.  Mr. 
Whitman's  wants  had  only  to  be  men 
tioned  and  the  purses  of  George  W. 
Childs,  Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell,  Horace 
Howard  Furness,  George  H.  Boker,  and 
a  dozen  more  in  Philadelphia  and  New 
York,  were  at  once  opened.  He  never 
was  in  any  danger  from  lack  of  comfort 
in  food  and  clothes,  when  his  wants 
were  made  known.  In  personal  friends 
of  character  and  wealth  Mr.  Whitman 
was  over-rich.  Distinctly  and  emphatic 
ally  he  was  not  a  mendicant,  a  beggar, 
a  loafer,  or  a  useless  mouth.  He  was  at 
work  always,  even  when  work  to  him  was 
mental  and  physical  torture. 

Mr.  Whitman's  pecuniary  condition,  it 
seemed,  was  carefully  kept  by  him  from 
his  Camden  friends  until  about  the  time 
he  accepted  the  grave  in  Harleigh  Ceme 
tery,  and  began  preparations  to  erect  a 
tornb.  Then  it  began  to  dawn  on  some 
of  them  that  Mr.  Whitman  had  a  way  of 
keeping  things  to  himself.  It  did  seem 
singular  that  certain  of  Mr.  Whitman's 
friends  should  tax  themselves  and  some 
other  young  men  for  his  monthly  ex- 


26  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

penses,  after  June,  1888,  while  lie  had 
several  thousands  of  dollars  in  bank ! 
Mr.  Whitman  asked  as  to  the  expense 
of  the  nurse  and  other  matters,  and  was 
answered:  "Oh!  that's  taken  care  of." 
He  did  not  know  for  some  time,  if  at  all, 
that  this  expense  was  divided  among 
some  young  men,  some  of  whom  were  not 
particularly  able  to  pay  it.  It  was  a  mis 
take  to  keep  this  from  him.  I  do  not 
believe  that  he  would  have  permitted 
such  a  tax. 

Mr.  Whitman  never  asked  his  English 
friends  for  pecuniary  aid,  but  did  ask 
them,  as  he  did  others,  to  buy  his  books. 
May  20,  1876,  Wm.  Michael  Eossetti  is 
sued  a  circular  headed  ' '  Walt  Whitman. ' ' 
On  June  1,  1876,  he  issued  another  of 
like  form  as  the  first.  These  circulars 
were  the  result  of  published  newspaper 
statements  in  England,  that  Mr.  Whit 
man  was  living  in  poverty  at  Camden. 
He  was  written  to  and  Mr.  Rossetti  is 
sued  the  circulars  based  upon  the  facts. 
Some  subscriptions  to  his  works  were  re 
ceived  from  England  not  on  this  list. 
Mr.  Whitman  received  from  this  source 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  C AMD  EN.  27 

about  one  thousand  dollars.  The  charac 
ter  and  standing  of  the  list  of  subscribers 
have  seldom  been  excelled  for  a  similar 
purpose  : 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

Many  of  the  persons  to  whom  this  Circular  is 
sent  will  be  aware  that  in  March  last,  in  the  Athe- 
nceum  and  Daily  News  more  especially,  statements 
were  printed  regarding  Mr.  Whitman's  circum 
stances  in  life.  The  annexed  extract,  from  a  letter 
written  by  himself  on  the  17th  of  March,  shows  the 
precise  facts  of  that  matter,  and  the  precise  thing 
which  he  would  wish  to  be  done,  viz.:  that  all 
persons  who  would  like  to  possess  his  books,  and 
thereby  to  contribute  to  his  literary  income,  should 
come  forward  and  order  the  books. 

The  object  of  this  Circular  (which  has  been  nec 
essarily  delayed  some  little  while  by  interchange 
of  letters  to  and  from  America)  is  to  invite  you  to 
do  this. 

The  editions  and  prices  are  shown  below;  no 
other  editions  are  procurable  from  the  author. 
The  books,  it  is  understood,  will  be  sent  from 
America  carriage  free.  A  list  of  purchasers,  as 
already  notified  to  me,  is  also  given  over-page. 

Mr.  Whitman's  address  is  stated  in  his  letter. 
The  purchase-money  can  be  sent  direct  to  him; 
any  checks,  orders,  or  drafts,  being  made  payable 
by  Messrs.  Brown  Brothers,  Bankers,  Philadel- 


28  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

phia  (corner  of  Chestnut  and  Strawberry  Streets), 
on  Mr.  Whitman's  indorsement:  or  Post-Office 
International  Money-Orders  could  be  used.  Or,  if 
preferred,  the  amounts  can  be  forwarded  to  me, 
and  I  will  remit  them  to  Mr.  Whitman. 

I  should  receive  with  much  pleasure  any  reply 
to  this  Circular;  also  any  list  (names  and  ad 
dresses)  of  persons  whom  you  may  know  likely 
to  be  interested  in  the  matter,  to  whom  I  would 
thereupon  send  other  copies  of  the  Circular. 

WM.  MICHAEL  ROSSETTI. 

56  Euston  Square,  London,  N.  W., 
1st  June,  1876. 

LIST  OF  BOOKS. 

1. — "Leaves  of  Grass,"  one  vol.,  with  two  por 
traits  and  autograph  (contains  all  Whitman's 
poetry  as  yet  published,  save  what  is  comprised  in 
No.  2).  Price  £1  (five  dollars). 

2. — "  Two  Rivulets,"  one  vol.,  with  photograph 
portrait  and  autograph  (contains  some  poetry  and 
all  the  prose  previously  published ;  also  thirteen 
new  poems,  and  the  Memoranda  during  the  War, 
and  other  new  prose.  Price  £1  (five  dollars). 

3.—"  Memoranda  during  the  War,"  one  vol. 
(same  as  in  No.  2,  but  separately  printed).  Price 
six  shillings  ($1.50). 

LIST  OF   PURCHASERS. 

W.  T.  Arnold,  Professor  Atkinson,  Professor 
Armstrong,  Miss  Blind,  W.  Brockie,  Eustace  Bal- 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  29 

four,  A.  G.  B.,  G.  H.  Boughton,  Eev.  T.  E. 
Brown,  F.  Madox  Brown,  G.  L.  Cathcart,  A.  G. 
Dew-Smith,  Mrs.  Deschamps,  J.  D.,  Professor 
Dowden,  Edward  Dannreuther,  Benjamin  Eyre, 
F.  S.  Ellis,  George  Fraser,  G.  W.  Foote,  E.  W. 
Gosse,  Mrs.  Gilchrist,  P.  E.  G.,  R  Hannah,  I. 
Hueffer,  G.  G.  Hake,  Lady  Hardy,  Lord  Hough- 
ton,  J.  H.  Ingram,  J.  Leicester- Warren,  G.  H. 
Lewes,  Harold  Littledale,  Veriion  Lushington, 
Godfrey  Lushington,  Miss  Moncrieff,  P.  B.  Mars- 
ton,  J.  H.  McCarthy,  Mrs.  Mathews,  N.  MacColl, 
Hon.  Roden  Noel,  J.  T.  Nettleship,  D.  G.  Rossetti, 
W.  M.  Rossetti,  C.  W.  Reynell,  C.  W.  S.,  Miss  T. 
0.  Simpson,  A.  C.  Swinburne,  W.  B.  Scott,  J. 
A.  Symonds,  Bram.  Stoker,  George  Saiiitsbury, 
Dr.  Todhunter,  George  Wallis,  R.  R.  Whitehead, 
T.  D.  Westness,  R.  Spence  Watson,  Alfred  Webb. 


CAMDEN,  NEW  JERSEY, 

U.  S.  AMERICA, 
431  Stevens  Street,  March  17,  1876. 

Cor.  West. 
W.  M.  ROSSETTI: 

Dear  Friend:  Yours  of  the  28th  February  re 
ceived,  and  indeed  welcomed  and  appreciated.  I 
am  jogging  along  still  about  the  same  in  physical 
condition— still  certainly  no  worse,  and  I  some 
times  lately  suspect  rather  better,  or  at  any  rate 
more  adjusted  to  the  situation — Even  begin  to 
think  of  making  some  move,  some  change  of  base, 


30  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

etc.:  the  doctors  have  been  advising  it  for  over 
two  years,  but  I  haven't  felt  able  to  do  it  yet.  My 
paralysis  does  not  lift— I  cannot  walk  any  distance 
—I  still  have  this  baffling,  obstinate,  apparently 
chronic  affection  of  the  stomachic  apparatus  and 
liver ;  yet  (as  told  in  former  letters)  I  get  out  of 
doors  a  little  every  day — write  and  read  in  modera 
tion—appetite  sufficiently  good  (eat  only  very  plain 
food,  but  always  did  that) — digestion  tolerable — 
and  spirits  unflagging.  As  said  above,  I  have  told 
you  most  of  this  before,  but  suppose  you  might  like 
to  know  it  all  again,  up  to  date.  Of  course,  and 
pretty  darkly  coloring  the  whole,  are  bad  spells, 
prostrations,  some  pretty  grave  ones,  intervals — 
and  I  have  resigned  myself  to  the  certainty  of 
permanent  incapacitation  from  solid  work;  but 
things  may  continue  at  least  in  this  half-and-half 
way  for  months — even  years. 

My  books  are  out,  the  new  edition;  a  set  of 
which,  immediately  on  receiving  your  letter  of 
28th,  I  have  sent  you  (by  mail,  March  15),  and  I 
suppose  you  have  before  this  received  them. 

My  dear  friend,  your  offers  of  help,  and  those 
of  my  other  British  friends,  I  think  I  fully  appre 
ciate,  in  the  right  spirit,  welcome  and  acceptive — 
leaving  the  matter  altogether  in  your  and  their 
hands — and  to  your  and  their  convenience,  discre 
tion,  leisure,  and  nicety.  Though  poor  now,  even 
to  penury,  I  have  not  so  far  been  deprived  of  any 
physical  thing  I  need  or  wish  whatever,  and  I  feel 
confident  I  shall  not  in  the  future.  During  my  em- 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  31 

ployment  of  seven  years  or  more  in  Washington 
after  the  War  (1865-72)  I  regularly  saved  a  great 
part  of  my  wages ;  and,  though  the  sum  has  now 
become  about  exhausted  by  my  expenses  of  the 
last  three  years,  there  are  already  beginning 
at  present  welcome  dribbles  hitherward  from 
the  sales  of  my  new  edition,  which  I  just  job  and 
sell,  myself  (as  the  book-agents  here  for  three 
years  in  New  York  have  successively,  deliberately, 
badly  cheated  me),  and  shall  continue  to  dispose 
of  the  books  myself .  And  that  is  the  way  I  should 
prefer  to  glean  my  support .  In  that  way  I  cheer 
fully  accept  all  the  aid  my  friends  find  it  conven 
ient  to  proffer.  .  .  . 

To  repeat  a  little,  and  without  undertaking 
details,  understand,  dear  friend,  for  yourself  and 
all,  that  I  heartily  and  most  affectionately  thank 
my  British  friends,  and  that  I  accept  their  sympa 
thetic  generosity  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  I 
believe  (nay,  know)  it  is  offered — that  though 
poor  /  am  not  in  want — that  I  maintain  good 
heart  and  cheer ;  and  that  by  far  the  most  satisfac 
tion  to  me  (and  I  think  it  can  be  done,  and  believe 
it  will  be)  will  be  to  live,  as  long  as  possible,  on 
the  sales,  by  myself,  of  my  own  works,  and  perhaps 
if  practicable,  by  further  writings  for  the  press. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

.  .  .  .  I  am  prohibited  from  writing  too 
much,  and  I  must  make  this  candid  statement 
of  the  situation  serve  for  all  my  dear  friends  over 
there. 


32  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

Mr.  Whitman,  in  a  way,  was  for  years 
his  own  publisher.  In  the  later  years  at 
Camden,  some  of  his  friends  tried  to  per 
suade  him  to  issue  a  popular  edition  of 
his  works.  His  last  and  the  present  pub 
lisher,  David  McKay  of  Philadelphia,  and 
myself  soon  settled  that  when  we  were 
asked.  Few  persons  would  have  bought 
any  of  them,  and  the  reduction  in  price 
would  have  ended  the  value  of  the  bound 
copies  he  had  on  hand. 

Mr.  McKay,  an  able  and  enterprising 
young  publisher,  was  much  respected  by 
Mr.  Whitman,  and  retained  his  confi 
dence  to  the  last.  Mr.  Whitman  was 
fortunate  in  falling  into  his  competent 
hands. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  always  a  poor  man 
except  in  brains,  even  when  in  full  vigor  ; 
and  as  a  fact,  and  a  most  curious  one,  he 
did  not  attain  pecuniary  ease  until  after 
he  had  become  an  invalid,  and  then 
through  his  own  exertions.  When  in 
entire  health  it  was  difficult  for  him  to 
make  a  living.  When  not  in  good  health 
it  was  comparatively  easy  for  him  to  do  it 
when  he  applied  himself  to  work.  Had  he 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  33 

been  located  for  life  in  one  spot  and  there 
pursued  his  theme,  he  would  have  secured 
a  fortune,  but  he  was  a  born  roaraer.  He 
roamed  over  much  of  the  United  States. 
Had  he  the  means,  all  parts  of  the  earth 
would  have  been  known  to  him."*  In  old 
age,  when  lameness  and  physical  inca 
pacity  forced  him  to  settle  down  in  one 
place — to  anchor — his  best  literary  effort 
was  shown.  His  imagination  could,  and 
did,  convert  the  narrow  walls  of  the  Mickle 
Street  house,  in  Camden,  into  boundaries 
of  nations,  seas,  oceans,  mountain  chains, 
landscapes,  vistas  of  Eden,  forests,  cities, 
palaces,  hovels,  homes  of  the  rich,  and 
art  galleries,  so  that  Mr.  Whitman  was 
thus  of  the  great  world,  while  out  of  it. 
When  he  pictured  from  memory  or  imagi- 

*  Referring  to  these  wanderings  in  a  letter  which  he 
empowered  me  to  publish  (dated  August  19,  1890), 
Whitman  says:  "My  life,  young  manhood,  mid-age, 
times  south,  have  been  jolly  bodily,  and  doubtless  open 
to  criticism."  After  this  sentence  there  follow  details 
concerning  his  domestic  circumstances,  which  prove 
that,  although  he  never  married,  his  youth  and  manhood 
were  not  passed  without  episodes  of  passion  and  perma 
nent  attachment. —  Walt  Whitman,  A  Study.  John 
Addington  Symonds,  1893. 


34  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

nation,  he  had  the  peculiar  faculty  of 
giving  to  whatever  he  depicted  a  form  and 
local  coloring — positive  realism,  a  gift 
possessed  by  few,  and  marking  its  owner 
a  child  of  the  universe,  in  touch  witli 
nature,  and  a  visible  exponent  of  its  beau 
ties.  Mr.  Whitman,  by  reason  of  this 
gift,  was  never  lonely,  never  weary  of 
life,  and  was  a  fit  comrade  for  himself. 
What  a  blessed  possession  !  an  empire 
within  one's  self. 

Still  with  his  poverty  he  aided  relatives, 
and  as  a  fact  had  the  care,  and  paid  the 
expenses  every  other  month  for  years,  of 
an  invalid  brother,  Edward  Whitman. 
His  brother  George  paid  during  the  alter 
nate  months.  Mr.  Whitman  also  pro 
vided  for  this  brother  in  his  will.  He 
bore  all  this  burden  without  a  murmur, 
although  at  times  he  was  dreadfully 
poor. 

Mr.  Whitman,  when  in  full  health,  was 
physically  slow  of  movement,  and  walked 
with  a  peculiarly  heavy  drag.  I  saw  him 
many  times  at  Washington,  in  the  sixties. 
At  that  time  he  used  no  cane,  and  his 
walk  was  almost  lazy,  swaggery,  and  his 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  35 

response  to  questions  was  very  deliberate. 
Usually,  in  winter,  he  placed  his  hands  in 
the  outside  diagonal  pockets  of  his  over 
coat.  His  inner  coat  was  worn  open. 
His  vest  showed  his  shirtbosom  low,  and 
in  it,  about  six  inches  below  the  collar, 
was  conspicuous  a  large,  pearl  button- 
stud,  almost  an  inch  in  diameter.  The 
first  time  I  ever  saw  him  he  wore  such  a 
button,  and  one  was  in  his  shirt  front  as 
he  lay  in  his  coffin.  His  breast  was  al 
ways  partially  exposed.  The  cuffs  of  his 
shirt,  and  the  deep  rolling  Byron  collar, 
were  alike  sewed  to  the  garment  and 
turned  over,  or  rolled  back,  well  up. 

After  his  paralysis,  and  in  Camden,  he 
walked  even  more  slowly  than  in  Wash 
ington,  and  with  difficulty,  using  a  cane, 
and  sometimes  two  of  them.  But,  as  he 
walked,  he  saw  everything  about  him. 
He  would  chat  with  any  person  who 
accosted  him,  uniformly  asked  questions 
of  anybody  and  everybody  whom  he 
thought  able  to  give  him  knowledge  of 
things  in  sight  that  interested  him.  He 
would  call  dogs  to  him,  and  in  a  fashion 
have  a  conference  with  them. 


36  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN, 

After  his  second  stroke,  he  delighted  in 
having  his  bare  back  rubbed  with  a  brush, 
after  sponging.  Still,  in  all  of  the  time 
from  his  second  stroke  and  until  his 
death,  I  venture  that  not  more  than  three 
persons  other  than  physicians  ever  saw 
his  back  uncovered.  He  was  as  modest 
as  a  woman  in  the  matter  of  exposure  of 
any  portion  of  his  body.  His  clothes  were 
always  kept  brushed ;  his  hair  well 
brushed.  His  teeth  were  worn,  but  nicely 
kept.  His  hands  were  large  (as  were  his 
feet),  and  strongly  marked  with  freckles. 
His  finger  nails  were  filed  each  day  and 
kept  thoroughly  clean.  He  was  a  most 
cleanly  man.  Each  day  he  took  a  warm 
bath.  He  usually  retired  at  9  P.  M.,  and 
arose  very  early.  He  kept  a  candle  by 
his  bedside  in  an  old-fashioned  brass 
candlestick.  This  he  lighted  and  read  by, 
when  awakened  at  night.  Five  to  six 
hours  of  sleep  sufficed  him,  so  he  was 
awake  at  odd  hours  of  the  night.  He 
liked  milk  and  liquid  foods,  and  was  a 
very  small  eater  of  meat  or  other  solids. 
Tobacco  he  did  not  use,  and  whisky  only 
as  a  medicine.  He  loved  the  odor  of 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  37 

cologne,  and  used  it  to  bathe  his  face  and 
hands  with.  He  was  as  delighted  as  a 
child  with  a  toy  when  a  friend  sent  him 
this  perfume.  I  can  now  see  his  dull 
eyes  glisten  and  his  red  cheeks  glow  and 
color  when  I  would  bring  him  a  bottle. 
While  in  conversation,  I  could  never  per 
ceive  any  grossness  in  his  manner  or  in 
his  expressed  thought.  Undue,  or  over 
attention,  when  visiting,  annoyed  him 
exceedingly,  and  he  seldom  returned  to  a 
house  where  he  was  made  too  much  of. 
He  did  not  want  to  be  considered  a  lion, 
and  would  not  be  lionized.  He  was  al 
ways  deferential  to  women  and  children. 
Children  were  to  him  earth's  brightest 
flowers.  Scores  of  times  I  have  sat  at  one 
window  of  his  front  room  or  parlor,  he  at 
the  other,  and  seen  and  heard  the  school 
children  as  they  climbed  up  the  cellar 
door,  look  into  the  room  and  call  out : 
"How  are  you  to-day,  Mr.  Whitman?" 
He  would  answer  cheerily:  "All  right, 
my  dear  ;  is  that  you  Johnny,  or  Sally  ?  " 
— as  the  case  might  be.  And  when  he  was 
in  his  last  sickness,  scores  of  little  children 
would,  from  day  to  day,  peek  in  the  win- 


38  WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

dows,  or  look  in  the  door  and  ask  Mrs. 
Davis  or  the  nurse,  "How's  Mr.  Walt 
to-day?"  It  always  has  seemed  to  me, 
through  life,  that  children  are  gifted  with 
an  almost  supernatural  intelligence  in  dis 
covering  who  are  their  friends  ;  and  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  that  a  man  who 
loves  children,  and  they  him,  cannot  be  a 
totally  bad  man.  Children  constantly,  in 
season,  brought  him  flowers.  When  he 
died  there  were  many  sad-eyed  children 
in  Camden  and  other  cities. 

While  Mr.  Whitman  had  a  profound 
respect  for  women,  and  peculiar  views 
respecting  them,  he  considered  them,  as 
a  class,  vastly  abler  than  men,  and  more 
intense  personages,  so  that  when  wicked 
or  vicious,  one  of  them  excelled  a  hun 
dred  men.  He  stated  to  me  several  times 
that  a  friend  of  his,  in  charge  of  a  large 
asylum  for  the  insane,  told  him  that  when 
the  devil  was  to  the  fore  in  a  woman,  in 
addition  to  hysteria  or  insanity,  one  such 
was  more  difficult  to  handle  or  control 
than  twelve  hundred  men. 

Children  always  attracted  him,  women 
seldom.  I  do  not  think  that  he  person- 


MR.  WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  39 

ally  cared  much  for  them,  as  a  rule.  He 
was  respectful  and  considerate  toward 
them,  but  not  fulsome  in  adoration. 

As  Mr.  Whitman  walked  the  streets  of 
Camden  or  Philadelphia  or  other  cities, 
he  was  public  property.  Persons  who 
knew  him,  or  only  even  by  sight  recog 
nized  him,  would  hail  him :  "  How  are 
you,  Walt?"  or  "How  goes  it,  Mr. 
Whitman  ? "  His  answer  uniformly  was, 
"  How  d'  you  do  ?  How  de  do  ? "  and  he 
would  pass  along,  unless  accosted  by 
some  intimate  friend,  when  he  would 
stop  and  chat  a  while.  To  callers  who 
were  his  friends  he  would  say,  "  Come  in, 
come  in !  Howdy!  Howdy!" 

From  1873  to  1889  horse  cars  were  run 
on  Market  Street,  the  principal  east 
and  west  thoroughfare  in  Philadelphia. 
When  the  weather  permitted,  Mr.  Whit 
man  was  accustomed  to  come  over  from 
Camden  and  ride  the  length  of  Market 
Street  and  back  on  one  of  these  cars. 
The  drivers,  who  were,  as  a  rule,  permitted 
to  use  a  high  chair  or  stool  for  a  seat, 
uniformly  surrendered  it  to  Mr.  Whitman. 
With  his  back  to  the  car,  his  feet  on  the 


40  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

fender,  and  cane  in  hand,  he  would  enjoy 
this  ride  of  eight  miles  or  more,  watching 
the  passersby,  but  seldom  speaking 
during  the  ride.  Sometimes  I  passed  up 
or  down  on  another  car,  and  he  would 
invariably  hail  me.  Some  of  the  drivers, 
noticing  this,  asked  me  who  he  was.  A 
"poet"  was  a  new  trade  to  many  of 
them.  So,  finally,  Mr.  Whitman  became 
known  on  the  line  as  "Whitman,  the 
Camden  poet.' '  All  the  drivers  liked  him, 
but  thought  him  "  odd." 

His  life  was  sweetened  and  made  happy 
by  his  love  of  nature,  and  so  he  became 
an  "  out  of  door"  ranger.  The  ocean 
shore,  woods,  mountains,  hills,  plains, 
river  banks,  streets  of  crowded  cities, 
ferry  boats,  horse  cars,  all  animate  or  in 
animate  nature  were  his  friends.  Sunsets 
and  sunrises  to  his  soul  were  almost  equal 
to  food  for  his  body.  The  sun  and  he 
were  friends.  For  several  years  he  used 
to  go  to  the  Stafford  farm  below  Camden, 
and  along  a  creek's  bank,  half  nude,  lie  in 
the  sand  and  bask  in  the  sun's  rays.  He 
tried  to  put  on  paper  nature  as  he  saw  it 
and  believed  that  it  is.  He  believed  he 


MR   WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  41 

was  doing  it  correctly.  The  problem  now 
is,  Will  mankind  recognize  the  picture  ? 

He  was  young  in  his  habit,  thought,  and 
manners,  and  remained  so  until  his  death. 
He  was  careful  and  considerate  of  the 
feelings  and  rights  of  others.  He  wanted 
to  be  "  let  alone,"  and  he  let  other  people 
alone.  He  was  a  good  judge  of  character, 
and  would  have  made  a  capital  man  of 
business,  barring  the  exercise  of  any  dis 
honesty  in  trade.  When  talking  to  or 
with  him,  he  would  approve  a  question 
by  "so!"  or  "perhaps!"  He  was  a 
good  listener,  both  in  time  and  absorp 
tion.  He  almost  equaled  James  Gr. 
Elaine  in  the  latter.  Mr.  Elaine  put  per 
sons  before  him  through  a  process  of 
mental  absorption  of  their  ideas,  akin  to 
the  practical  operation  of  a  squeezer  with 
a  lemon.  The  skin,  however,  as  with  the 
squeezer,  was  left. 

On  July  20,  1882,  I  made  a  personal 
minute  of  Mr.  Whitman,  expecting  to  use 
it  in  another  form  than  in  this  book.  I 
reproduce  it  here  : 

Walt  Whitman,  the  poet,  I  know  quite  well.  I 
have  known  him  for  many  years.  At  sixty-two 


42  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

he  is  a  large  man,  over  six  feet  in  height,  and 
weighing  180  pounds  ;  a  large  head  with  a  full 
beard  of  gray,  his  hair  white,  long,  and  flowing; 
his  eye  blue-gray  and  listless ;  his  complexion  rosy, 
like  a  child's ;  his  mouth  and  teeth  good ;  his  figure 
that  of  an  athlete.  His  nose  rather  hooked;  his 
feet  large,  his  hands  the  same,  and  covered  with 
freckles  and  crispy  red-gray  hairs.  He  wears  gray 
clothes,  a  gray  slouched  hat,  with  broad  brim  and 
conical  body.  His  collar  is  very  wide  and  deep 
and  not  buttoned,  and  his  shirt  front  always  open 
six  inches,  with  a  huge  stud  of  pearl.  His  wrist 
bands  are  long  and  hang  down.  His  manner  of 
speech  is  slow  and  unassuming,  and  he  is  always 
natural  and  easy,  his  voice  low  and  musical,  his 
laugh  a  short  jerky  one.  He  has  lived  at  Cam  den, 
New  Jersey,  since  73.  He  has  a  habit  when  at 
home  of  coming  over  to  Philadelphia,  each  day, 
toward  evening,  across  the  Delaware  on  a  ferry 
boat,  and  riding  on  the  Market  Street  cars  up  to 
Thirty-second,  and  then  out  Baring  to  the  Cen 
tennial  Building.  Rain  or  shine  he  rides  outside 
of  the  car.  All  the  drivers  know  him  if  not  by 
name,  and  they  give  him  their  stools  on  the  front 
platform  to  sit  on.  He  is  always  saluted  by  pass 
ing  drivers,  to  which  he  responds  with  a  wave  of 
the  hand.  He  is  one  of  the  most  curious  men  I 
ever  knew.  His  name  of  the  "  Good  Gray  Poet," 
comes  from  his  gray  clothes  and  beard,  and  was 
first  applied  to  him  by  William  Douglas  O'Connor 
of  Washington.  Children,  when  they  know  him, 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  43 

are  fond  of  him.  His  paralysis  of  the  right  side 
makes  him  use  a  cane.  I  used  frequently  to  ride 
with  him  on  the  street  cars,  and  hear  his  cheery 
talk.  This  I  have  done  a  hundred  times.  He 
supports  himself  with  his  pen  and  through  the 
sale  of  his  book,  and  by  the  help  of  a  few  friends. 
He  has  an  edition  known  as  the  ' '  Author's  Edi 
tion  "  of  his  works  in  two  volumes,  which  he  sends 
out  with  his  autograph  and  photograph  for  ten 
dollars.  I  once  called  his  attention  to  a  copy  of 
the  first  edition  of  his  book,  1855,  in  the  store  of  a 
friend  for  twelve  dollars.  It  contained  a  small 
photograph  of  "Walt"  with  his  hat  on.  Mr. 
Whitman  said  it  was  worth  more;  that  in  Lon 
don  they  sold  for  fifteen  dollars.  He  is  an  odd 
stick.  The  mythical  finds  strong  expression  in 
him.  One  day  in  1878,  at  Camden,  he  was  at  the 
funeral  of  a  handsome  child  whom  he  had  known 
in  life.  She  was  a  relative.  She  was  covered  with 
flowers,  and  as  she  lay  in  her  coffin  was  a  pretty 
and  restful  sight.  Mr.  Whitman,  observing  a  little 
girl  peering  over  the  side  of  the  coffin,  taking  her 
hand  in  his,  and  looking  with  his  great  gray  blue 
eyes  into  those  of  the  wondering  child,  said: 
"You  don't  understand  this,  my  dear,  do  you  ?" 
The  child  lisped  out:  "  No,  sir."  "  Neither  do  I," 
said  Walt  as  he  turned  away. 

In  the  winter  of  1880-81,  which  was  a  very  cold 
one,  Mr.  Whitman  was  busy  hunting  out  car- 
drivers  in  Philadelphia  who  had  no  overcoats,  were 
worthy  men,  and  had  families  dependent  upon 


44  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

them.  To  these  he  gave  coats.  The  money  for 
them  was  supplied  by  philanthropic  and  humane 
George  W.  Childs,  and  was  one  of  his  unheralded 
charities.  Mr.  Whitman  told  me  one  day  that  he 
drank  no  strong  drink,  but  sometimes  drank  wine, 
and  was  careful  as  to  his  eating.  Sometimes  he 
was  not  the  Good  Gray  Poet  in  dress.  Along  in 
the  summer  of  1882  he  procured  and  wore  a  suit 
of  dark  blue  flannel — all  blue — even  a  blue  hat, 
but  always  a  slouch  one. 

I  met  him  on  Ninth  Street  in  Philadelphia  on 
July  24,  1882,  a  very  hot  day.  He  said  that  the 
recent  efforts  to  keep  his  books  from  the  mails  had 
given  him  some  trouble.  In  February,  1882,  some 
Boston  Brahmanshad  complained  to  the  Attorney 
General  of  the  State,  that  Whitman's  book  or 
works,  as  published  by  Field,  Osgood  &  Co., 
were  immoral.  The  Attorney  General  wrote  to 
the  firm,  who  thereafter  discontinued  their  publica 
tion.  (Rees  Welsh  &  Co.,  of  Philadelphia,  pub 
lished  them  in  September,  1882.)  This,  of  course, 
attracted  much  public  attention.  Mr.  Whitman 
said  that  they  had  applied  at  Washington  to  have 
an  order  issued  forbidding  his  book  transportation 
in  the  mails.  Robert  G.  Ingersoll  had  been  his 
best  friend,  and  had  done  the  most  to  prevent,  and 
probably  was  the  person  who  did  prevent  this 
injustice.  Rees  Welsh  told  me,  late  in  1882, 
in  speaking  of  Mr.  Whitman,  that  he  had  just 
finished  selling  an  edition  of  three  thousand 
copies  of  Whitman's  condensed  book.  He  said 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  45 

that  Mr.  Whitman  told  him  some  days  before  that 
while  out  West,  a  few  years  since,  he  was  so  poor 
that  he  almost  starved  to  death.  And  that  out 
West,  or  in  any  other  place,  he  never  had  any 
money  of  consequence. 

Mr.  Welsh  showed  me  a  splendid  picture  of 
Whitman  sitting  in  a  rustic  chair  with  his  hat  on, 
a  half-face,  and  holding  his  right  arm  out  at  full 
length,  with  a  butterfly  on  it.  I  advised  Mr. 
Welsh  to  put  this  picture  in  for  a  frontispiece  for 
the  next  edition  of  Whitman's  poems,  "Leaves 
of  Grass."  Mr.  Welsh,  an  exceedingly  able  and 
clever  man,  it  was  believed  had  been  trying,  by 
working  underneath,  to  get  the  Philadelphia  Soci 
ety  for  the  Suppression  of  Vice  to' try  to  prosecute 
him  for  this  Whitman's  publication.  It  would 
help  its  sale.  The  Boston  fools,  he  said,  had  already 
made  for  him  more  than  two  thousand  dollars. 

I  met  Mr.  Whitman  on  a  Tuesday  in  August, 
1882,  on  the  boat  crossing  the  river  to  Camden. 
He  said  that  he  had  reserved  another  trip  to 
Colorado  for  the  last,  and  that  the  poetry  and 
sentiment  of  that  region  had  not  as  yet  been 
touched.  After  this  I  got  him  tickets  there  and 
back,  but  he  did  not  use  them.  He  was  very  fond 
of  children,  and  used  to  talk  with  great  sense  to 
my  little  boy  Elaine.  He  was  very  sick  during 
the  week  from  October  22  to  November  5,  1882, 
and  thus  missed  the  festivities  of  the  Philadelphia 
Bi-Centennial. 


46  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

Mr.  Whitman  had  an  off-hand  way  of 
''dropping  in"  on  friends;  never  too 
often  ;  just  enough.  He  was  not  com 
pany,  and  not  a  guest.  He  just  dropped 
in,  filled  a  niche  comfortably,  and  dropped 
out  as  he  came,  without  noise,  leaving  a 
desire  to  have  him  come  again.  In  these 
visits  he  never  tried  to  impress  you  with 
what  or  how  much  he  knew.  If  a  theme 
came  up  in  which  he  was  interested,  he 
gave  his  views,  not  as  a  crusher,  not  as  an 
avalanche,  but  quietly,  convincingly.  He 
never  aired  his  knowledge,  never  blurted 
out  his  dictionary.  He  used  few  and 
simple  words  in  conversation  ;  and  none 
of  the  complex  or  compound  expressions 
found  in  his  writings.  His  mariner  was 
simplicity  itself.  He  seemed  to  be  at 
tracted  to  and  by  talented  people.  There 
was  a  family  with  three  daughters  (neigh 
bors,  in  fact,  tenants  of  mine),  whose 
beauty  was  only  equaled  by  their  brains 
and  good  sense.  Two  of  these  young 
ladies  became  actresses  of  character  and 
capacity.  They  followed  and  still  follow 
the  stage  for  a  living,  with  honor  to  the 
profession,  and  are  happily  married,  and 


MR.   WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  47 

are  yet  living  with  the  husbands  they 
began  with — a  most  unusual  thing  in  these 
loose  marital  times.  Mr.  Whitman  was 
always  welcome  at  their  home,  and  one  of 
the  first  to  discover  and  appreciate  their 
talent.  He  lauded  their  efforts,  and  urged 
them  onward  and  upward.  The  head  of 
the  family  was  a  quiet,  dignified,  kindly, 
easy-going  gentleman,  while  the  mother 
was  possessed  of  push  and  ability  of  a 
high  order.  Mr.  Whitman  always  spoke 
of  her  as  the  chief  of  the  family,  and 
argued  that,  necessarily,  the  girls  must 
be  talented.  To  the  close  of  his  life  he 
had  a  warm  heart  for  these  good  people, 
and  rather  intimated,  as  he  chronicled 
their  successes  and  watched  their  upward 
progress,  that  he  was  as  proud  of  them  as 
if  they  were  his  own,  taking  some  credit 
for  crying  "hurrah!"  when  they  first 
went  upon  the  stage.  His  kindly  interest 
in  these  most  worthy  ladies  was  indicative 
of  his  nature. 

Mr.  Whitman  had  a  quaint  way  of  call 
ing  people  whom  he  liked  by  their  first 
names, — for  instance,  B,.  W.  Gilder  was 
"  Watson," — but  this  was  only  to  his  inti- 


48  WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

mates.  One  day  he  showed  me,  with  evi 
dent  satisfaction,  a  letter  he  had  received 
from  Edwin  Booth,  thanking  him  for  the 
reference  to  his  father  in  an  article  on 
the  stage  and  actors  in  a  current  magazine. 
As  I  have  written,  his  person  was  curi 
ously  attractive  ;  his  dress  singular,  and 
his  walk  marked.  And  so  there  was 
something  about  the  man,  even  before  he 
spoke,  that  attracted  you  to  him.  This 
attraction,  when  they  knew  him,  was  ap 
preciated  by  children,  who  were  glad  to 
see  him,  wanted  to  chat  with  him,  and 
always,  in  our  house,  regretted  his  de 
parture.  When  he  would  walk  or  drive 
up  to  see  us,  the  children,  upon  seeing 
him,  would  call  out,  "  Here  comes  Mr. 
Whitman,"  and  run  to  the  door  and  to 
the  porch  to  bring  him  in.  It  was  never 
"Walt."  He  came  in  with  a  quiet, 
hearty,  "How  are  you  all?  Well? 
That's  a  blessing.  Now,  wait  until  I  sit 
me  down,  so !  There's  the  hat  and  the 
coat.  The  cane  I  will  keep.  Now,  we 
are  all  fixed.  Come  along  now  and  buss 
me;"  and  the  children  would  give  him 
a  hearty  kiss.  He  knew  the  cat  and 


ME.  WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  49 

the  dog  by  name,  and  was  particular  to 
know  the  servants  and  the  people  about 
the  house.  Ellen  Jones  and  Bridget 
Harwood  and  Charles  Charlton  were  as 
carefully  inquired  about  as  were  the 
people  of  the  house  themselves  ;  our  old 
friends  Judge  Wm.  Haydon  and  Erastus 
Brainard  were  always  asked  for.  His 
manners  were  easy ;  his  conversation,  in 
the  manner  of  ifc,  keyed  to  his  person 
ality.  He  could  laugh  a  hearty,  round 
laugh,  but  usually  it  was  a  quiet  chuckle, 
with  his  face  agleam. 

While  Mr.  Whitman  was  at  all  times 
neat  in  his  person,  at  table  he  was 
dainty  and  observably  nice.  He  used 
his  knife  as  a  divider  and  his  fork  to  eat 
food  with.  He  was  not  a  sword  swal- 
lower.  He  used  his  napkin  before  drink 
ing  from  a  glass  or  cup.  When  he  sat  at 
our  table  he  always  retained  his  cane,  and 
at  times  would  sit  back  on  his  chair  and, 
laying  his  hands  one  over  the  other  on 
its  crook,  would  listen,  or  chat,  for  a 
time.  At  such  times  he  seemed  very  con 
tented.  He  had  none  of  the  offensive 
table  manners  usual  to  many  old  men 


50  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

who  consider  the  privileges  of  years  as  a 
badge  to  warrant  bad  manners. 

One  day  at  our  table  he  detailed  at 
length  how  he  had  himself  set  up,  printed, 
and  gotten  out  his  first  edition  of  "  Leaves 
of  Grass,"  in  1855,  and  that,  at  the  time, 
he  was  engaged  in  building  small  houses, 
and  making  money  at  it.  I  asked  him 
how  much  he  made  out  of  the  book.  He 
gave  a  quiet  chuckle  and  replied :  "  Made  ? 
Well,  if  I  remember  correctly,  those  per 
sons  to  whom  I  sent  them  returned  them, 
all  but  four  or  five,  and  the  rest  I  pre 
vailed  on  friends  and  relatives,  who  could 
not  refuse,  to  take  away  by  hand.  Oh, 
as  a  money  matter,  the  book  was  a  dread 
ful  failure  !" 

I  frequently  made  notes  of  Mr.  Whit 
man's  visits  to  me.  I  give  two  of  them  : 

PHILADELPHIA,  PA,  ,  November  19,  1885. 
Walt  Whitman  spent  the  day  with  us.  He 
came  at  one  o'clock  and  went  home  at  five.  He 
is  getting  very  lame.  He  climbed  upstairs  to  my 
den  at  the  top  of  the  house  with  the  aid  of  his  stick 
and  wandered  about.  While  sitting  in  my  room 
he  took  up  a  copy  of  Jane  Grey  Swisshelm's  book 
"  Half  a  Century."  Turning  to  a  reference  to  her 


MR.  WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  51 

hospital  experience  about  Washington,  he  read  a 
page,  and  said,  "What  a  cantankerous  old  viper 
she  was,"  and  laid  the  book  down.  I  read  him 
Mr.  Whittier's  letter  about  the  horse  and  buggy. 
His  eyes  filled  as  he  said,  "What  a  lovely  man! 
and  yet  it  was  reported  that  he  threw  my  book 
into  the  fire  after  reading  it."  As  he  came  down 
stairs,  he  said,  "Be  careful  ;  if  I  fall  it  will  be  a 
matter  of  moment,  as  I  now  weigh  206  pounds." 

At  dinner  I  mentioned  that  I  thought  Mr. , 

of  a  Philadelphia  newspaper,  bore  the  reputation  of 
having  the  meanest  disposition  of  any  public  or 
professional  man  in  Philadelphia,  and  mentioned 

the  oft-expressed  wonder  of  many  that  Mr. 

kept  such  a  man  about  him.  Mr.  Whitman  said, 
"Your  Uncle  [meaning  himself],  who  does  not 
say  much  about  anybody,  thinks  the  same  way; 

Mr.  probably  keeps  him  as  a  foil."    At  the 

table  Mr.  Whitman  ate  freely,  and  at  dessert  took 
a  banana.  Sipping  a  glass  of  sherry,  he  said,  "  A 
banana  and  sherry,  to  me,  after  dinner,  is  perfec 
tion  ;  it  is  the  culmination  of  all  good  things,  and 
now  I  am  supremely  happy." 

PHILADELPHIA,  PA., 

Christmas,  Saturday,  December  25,  1886. 
Walt  Whitman  took  dinner  with  us  to-day.  He 
was  in  good  form  and  full  of  quiet  talk.  Speaking 
of  the  recent  spasm  in  England  and  Scotland  as 
to  his  being  in  a  starving  condition,  he  said, 
"Well,  I  may  be  ;  but  it  is  a  pleasant  kind  of 
starving."  He  mentioned  that  in  times  past  some 


52  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

rogues  abroad  had  gotten  up  and  cribbed  some 
small  subscriptions  made  for  him.  After  dinner 
he  began  a  chat  about  actors ;  much  of  it,  however, 
he  had  talked  before  to  me.  One  incident  was 
new.  In  speaking  of  the  mannerisms  of  actors, 
their  methods  of  speaking,  etc.,  he  said  that  some 
years  ago  James  E.  Murdock,  the  actor,  told  him 
of  having  seen  Edmund  Kean  act,  and  of  Kean 
apparently  using  the  letter  "  b"  in  pronunciation 
frequently  where  "  m "  should  have  been  used. 
A  very  marked  peculiarity,  caused  by  a  snappy 
sort  of  articulation,  common  to  both  of  the  Keans. 
I  (Thomas  Donaldson)  heard  Charles  Kean  in 
1866,  and  can  vouch  for  the  Kean  snappy  method 
of  speech. 

Mr.  Whitman  gave  the  following  illustration 
of  Kean's  method  of  reading: 

"  You  take  my  house,  when  you  do  take  the  prop 
That  doth  sustain  my  house  ;  you  take  my  life, 
When  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  I  live." 

Edmund  Kean  read  it  : 

"  You  take  my  life, 
When  you  do  take  the  beans  whereby  I  live." 

Punch,  in  speaking  of  this,  said  that  "  Mr.  Kean 
was  an  antiquarian,  and  found  out  that  Shylock 
lived  upon  beans." 


CHAPTER  III. 

MR.    WHITMAN  IN   CAMDEN   (continued). 

Mr.  Whitman  and  Henry  Irving  Visits— Mr.  Whitman's  Reti 
cence  even  to  Close  Friends— He  Seldom  Showed  Grief— Dinner 
Given  Him,  1890— Speech  of  Julian  Hawthorne— Mr.  Whitman's 
Modeaty— His  Tastes— Refusal  of  Association  Hall  for  his 
Lecture  on  Elias  Hicks— His  Prominence  in  Literature— His 
Poverty-Help  from  George  W.  Childs-The  House  in  Mickle 
Street— The  Vile  Odor  Surrounding  it  from  the  Southwest— My 
Artist  Friend's  Estimate. 

ONE  day  in  April,  1884,  some  foreign 
gentlemen  were  to  visit  my  house,  at 
Philadelphia.  I  invited  Mr.  Whitman. 
He  came  half  an  hour  in  advance  of  the 
other  guests,  and  was  comfortably  seated 
in  the  parlor  when  they  arrived.  He  sat 
on  a  sofa  on  the  west  side  of  the  room. 
I  went  to  the  hall  door  and  received 
Henry  Irving,  Joseph  Hatton,  and  Bram 
Stoker.  After  removing  hats  and  wraps, 
Mr.  Irving,  unattended,  went  into  the 
parlor.  I  was  detained  for  some  minutes 
in  the  hall  with  the  other  gentlemen,  but 
soon  was  relieved  by  a  member  of  my 

53 


54  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

family,  and  went  into  the  parlor.  Mr. 
Whitman  was  sitting  as  I  had  .left  him, 
with  his  hands  crossed  upon  the  top  of 
his  cane.  Mr.  Irving  was  on  the  east  side 
of  the  room,  leaning  upon  the  mantel  and 
closely  observing  a  picture.  At  once  it 
occurred  to  me  that  the  two  had  not 
spoken.  I  believe  that  it  is  "bad  form  " 
in  England  for  guests  to  speak  to  one 
another,  under  a  host's  roof,  unless  intro 
duced.  I  presume  the  close  and  mixed 
condition  of  society  there  makes  this  so 
essential.  I  hurriedly  said,  "Mr.  Irv 
ing,  this  is  Mr.  Walt  Whitman." 
"Bless  us  !"  he  replied,  as  he  hurriedly 
walked  across  the  room  to  Mr.  Whitman, 
"I  am  delighted  to  see  you  !  "  and  they 
had  a  chat  of  half  an  hour.  I  give  Mr. 
Hatton's  account  of  the  meeting  : 

' '  On  Irving's  second  visit  to  Philadelphia  (1884) 
we  called  upon  him  [Mr.  Donaldson]  and  inspected 
some  of  his  miscellaneous  treasures.  They  cov 
ered  a  wide  range  of  interest— antiquarian,  geo 
logical,  historical,  artistic,  and  literary.  A  white- 
haired,  picturesque-looking  old  gentleman  was 
there  to  meet  us.  *  How  like  Tennyson  ! '  ex 
claimed  Irving.  The  interesting  visitor  was  Walt 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  55 

Whitman.  He  expressed  great  satisfaction  on 
being  told  that  he  was  well  known  in  England, 
and,  in  an  amused  way,  he  stood  up,  that  Irving 
might  judge  if  he  was  as  tall  as  Tennyson.  It  is 
a  milder  face  and  less  rugged  in  its  lines  than  the 
face  of  the  great  English  poet  ;  but  in  other  re 
spects,  suggests  the  author  of  '  In  Memoriam.'  "  * 

Mr.  Whitman  was  greatly  pleased  with 
Mr.  Irving,  and  remarked  to  me  how  little 
of  the  actor  there  was  in  his  manner  or 
talk.  Frequently,  after  this,  Mr.  Whit 
man  expressed  to  me  his  admiration  for 
Mr.  Irving,  now  Sir  Henry  Irving,  for  his 
gentle  and  unaffected  manners  and  his 
evident  intellectual  power  and  heart. 

I  never  saw  any  indications  of  mean 
ness  in  Mr.  Whitman.  He  was  poor,  and 
needed  to  watch  the  outgo  of  his  pennies 
as  other  men  did  dollars.  For  two  or 
three  years  before  his  death  his  personal 
expenses  and  for  food  were  not  fifty  cents 
a  day.  When  he  had  turkey,  he  ate  it 
thankfully  ;  when  he  had  only  bread  and 
tea,  he  was  thankful.  During  our  ac 
quaintance  in  Camden  and  Philadelphia 
he  never  proclaimed  that  he  was  poor. 

*  "  Impressions  of  America,"  pages  211,  212. 


56  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

He  never  asked  anyone  to  aid  him.  He 
was  a  proud  man.  Being  an  invalid,  he 
felt  his  helplessness,  and  so  attentions 
were  doubly  dear  to  him.  He  had  known 
poverty  in  its  grossest  form  while  living 
in  Camden.  A  small  purse  was  raised  for 
him  in  England  about  the  time  of  his 
lowest  ebb  of  poverty  in  that  place.  It 
did  not  reach  him.  It  was  appropriated, 
I  think,  by  one  of  its  custodians.  When 
he  was  eating  off  a  drygoods  box  for  a 
table  and  drinking  milk  warmed  over  a 
coal  oil  lamp  and  a  few  crackers  with  it, 
he  would  ask  you  to  dine  with  the  dignity 
of  a  prince,  and  never  apologized  for,  or 
mentioned,  the  food.  I  presume  that  I 
possessed  his  confidence  as  much,  if  not 
more,  than  any  other  man  during  the  last 
ten  years  of  his  life.  I  spent  an  evening 
with  live  of  his  close  friends,  in  Camden, 
one  night  in  December,  1891,  when  Mr. 
Whitman  was  supposed  to  be  dying,  and 
was  astounded  to  find  that  not  one  of 
them  knew  very  much  about  him.  In 
conversation,  I  threw  out  several  feelers, 
and  discovered  that  they  were  ignorant 
of  him  and  his  life  ;  and  when  I  proposed 


ME.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  57 

a  query  to  them  indicating  my  knowl 
edge,  some  of  them  called  out  "  What !  " 
This  convinced  me  that  Mr.  Whitman 
had  few  friends  in  whom  he  placed  entire 
confidence. 

Mr.  Whitman  seldom  openly  showed 
the  emotion  of  grief.  It  happened  that  I 
was  with  him  when  the  death  of  Win. 
D.  O'Connor  of  Washington,  of  the  Life 
Saving  Service  Bureau,  his  earnest  friend 
and  intelligent  defender,  was  mentioned. 
Mr.  Whitman  said  nothing  for  some 
minutes,  but  sat  with  his  head  down. 
When  he  looked  up,  his  usually  flat  and 
colorless  eyes  put  on  a  far-away  look,  and 
he  stared  some  time  without  speaking. 
After  a  time,  in  a  deep  voice  he  answered, 
"And  such  a  friend!"  When  Anne 
Gllchrist's  death  in  England,  December, 
1885,  was  announced,  he  sat  quiet,  and 
finally,  in  a  deeper  tone  than  usual,  he 
answered,  "  A  sincere  and  loving  friend." 
No  tears,  no  broken  voice,  but  rather  an 
exultation  that  such  good  people  had  gone 
to  well-earned  rewards,  alone  indicated 
his  loss.  I  have  seen  his  eyes  fill  with 
tears  of  joy,  but  do  not  recall  one  in  grief. 


58  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

I  attended  a  dinner  given  to  Mr.  Whit 
man  at  Camden,  in  1890,  May  31  (the 
day  of  the  Johnstown  flood),  in  honor  of 
his  seventieth  birthday.  Julian  Haw 
thorne  was  one  of  the  speakers.  He 
eulogized  Mr.  Whitman,  who  was 
wheeled  into  the  room  in  his  chair,  and 
said  that  he  liked  him  best  for  the  fact 
of  his  friendship  for  and  personal  love 
of  Mr.  Lincoln.  Mr.  Hawthorne  had 
been  misinformed.  As  a  fact,  Mr.  Whit 
man  never  talked  to  Mr.  Lincoln  in  his 
life,  or  Mr.  Lincoln  to  him.  Mr.  Lin 
coln,  one  day  in  1864,  while  looking  out 
of  a  window  at  the  White  House  and 
being  told  that  a  passer-by  was  Walt 
Whitman,  said  "Well,  lie  looks  like  a 
man."  Mr.  Whitman  was  no  sham.  He 
never  banked  on  the  men  whom  he  had 
known.  His  capital  was  himself  and  his 
work. 

Mr.  Whitman,  in  all  of  his  intercourse 
with  me,  never  seemed  particularly  secre 
tive  ;  still  he  was  shrewd.  He  never  gave 
me  the  impression  that  he  was  trying  to 
hide  anything.  He  spoke  slowly — very 
slowly  at  times,  but  this  was  not  affecta- 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  59 

tion  ;  it  was  merely  that  he  was  formulat 
ing  his  ideas  into  speech.  At  other  times, 
when  on  subjects  he  had  thought  over, 
he  spoke  rather  quickly  and  with  free 
dom.  He  thought  slowly,  but  impres 
sions  were  quickly  made.  His  mind 
worked  on  a  clear  perceptive  basis,  but 
deductions  resulted  slowly.  Because  he 
thought  a  thing  and  announced  it,  he  did 
not  believe  it  a  crime  in  others  not  to 
think  as  he  did  or  to  believe  as  he  did. 
He  was  sensitive,  but  riot  egotistically  so. 
Unfair  criticism  of  his  work  caused  him 
but  little,  if  any,  mental  trouble.  Unfair 
and  unjust  criticism  of  himself  cut  him 
and  hurt  his  pride. 

Mr.  Whitman,  in  his  home,  in  my  house 
at  my  table,  or  anywhere  else,  never  by 
word,  sign,  or  act,  gave  me  an  impression 
that  he  considered  himself  a  great  man, 
or  as  trying  to  be  one,  or  as  posing  as  one, 
or  that  he  was  exceptional  among  men. 
He  acted  naturally,  as  other  men  act,  and 
distinctly  and  emphatically  refused  to 
be  flattered.  Still  he  moved  in  his  own 
orbit  and  preserved  at  all  times  his  dis 
tinct  personality.  Like  other  earnest 


60  WALT  WHITMAN.    THE  MAN. 

men  and  workers,  he  sometimes  intimated 
that  he  thought  he  could  be  useful  to 
others  by  the  use  of  his  pen. 

He  had  a  love  of  humor.  I  never 
heard  him  attempt  to  tell  a  story,  but 
he  was  fond  of  hearing  others  tell  them. 
He  chuckled  and  smiled  at  a  good  humor 
ous  story.  No  one  ever  attempted  to  tell 
a  vulgar  one  in  his  presence. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  an  appreciative  lover 
of  the  drama  and  of  music.  In  early  life 
he  was  a  constant  theater-  and  opera-goer. 
Any  place  in  the  house  did  him  so  long 
as  he  could  see  and  hear.  He  was  as  fre 
quently  in  the  gallery  with  the  gods  as 
with  the  boys  in  the  pit,  or  the  upper 
crust  in  the  boxes,  stalls,  or  orchestra 
seats.  Here  he  studied  life. 

After  1873  he  seldom  went  to  the 
theater.  His  lameness  prevented  his  sit 
ting  in  the  cramped  seats. 

I  recall  his  chat  about  a  visit  to  see  Law 
rence  Barrett  do  "Francesca  di  Rimini," 
a  drama  by  Hon.  George  H.  Boker,  at 
the  Chestnut  Street  Opera  House,  Phila 
delphia,  in  the  eighties.  I  asked  Mr. 
Whitman  which  portion  pleased  him 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  61 

most.  He  quickly  replied  :  ''Outside  of 
Mr.  Barrett's  acting,  that  of  Mr.  James 
and  Miss  Wainwright.  The  lovers  were 
soft  and  sweet  in  manner  ;  their  language 
beautiful  and  touching  ;  and  they  looked 
and  acted  like  real  lovers.  Ah,  after 
all,  there  is  nothing  so  attractive  as  the 
theater!" 

There  was  a  person  in  Camden,  prior 
to  1892,  who  at  one  time  had  large  pre 
tensions  to  portraiture.  Having  been 
well  over  the  Republic,  he  had  met  many 
public  men.  He  became  friendly  to  Mr. 
Whitman,  and  finally  copied  him  in  dress 
and  manner — even  as  to  his  beard.  This 
artist  sometimes  became  thirsty,  and  was 
not  careful  as  to  places  he  visited  to 
quench  his  thirst.  Several  times  he  met 
friends  in  odd  places  and  was  overcome. 
When  on  the  street  in  this  condition  he 
would  be  mistaken  for  Mr.  Whitman : 
and  presently  it  was  noised  about  that 
Mr.  Whitman  was  fearfully  addicted  to 
drink.  Some  of  his  friends  heard  of  it  and 
made  an  investigation.  The  artist  was 
reasoned  with.  He  presently  doffed  the 
hat  and  clothes,  cut  his  beard,  and  thus 


62  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

his  resemblance  to  Mr.  Whitman  ceased. 
I  spoke  to  him  (Mr.  Whitman)  about  it, 
and  he  laughed  heartily  over  the  incident, 
saying:  "My!  it  was  a  close  shave  for 
my  reputation ! " 

Mr.  Whitman  used  to  laugh  at  the 
refusal  to  him  of  Association  Hall  in 
Philadelphia  for  his  lecture  on  Elias 
Hicks.  The  authorities  (The  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association)  were  told 
that  Elias  Hicks  was  not  orthodox,  and 
so  refused  the  hall  to  Mr.  Whitman  for 
the  lecture.  "My,  my  !  "  he  would  say, 
"It  wouldn't  have  hurt  the  hall  one  bit," 
and  then  he  would  chuckle. 

Mr.  Whitman  had  a  love  for  riding  on 
ferry  boats,  street  cars,  and  omnibuses. 
His  love  of  nature  fostered  this,  besides, 
while  in  motion  on  them,  things  about 
came  into  view  and  he  thus  saw  a  con 
stant  panorama.  He  liked  change.  He 
haunted  the  Delaware  River  front  about 
Camden  for  years.  He  had  a  pass  on  the 
ferry  boats,  thanks  to  the  Pennsylvania 
Railroad  Company,  and  on.  their  several 
roads  to  Atlantic  City.  Of  moonlight 
nights,  I  used  to  go  down  to  the  Market 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  63 

Street  ferry,  and  wait  for  the  boat  on 
which  Mr.  Whitman  would  be  riding. 
Of  course  there  was  no  engagement  as  to 
time,  but  when  I  had  leisure  of  a  moon 
light  night  I  knew  where  to  find  him. 
When  he  would  come  aboard  of  the  boat 
he  would  call  out  cheerily  to  the  boat- 
hands,  all  of  whom  he  knew  by  name, 
"  Howdy,  boys,  Howdy  !  "  As  a  curious 
fact,  lame  as  he  was,  he  preferred  stand 
ing  by  the  boat  rail  or  leaning  over  it 
to  sitting  down.  When  he  reached  the 
Philadelphia  side  of  the  river  the  hill  at 
Market  Street  would  require  twenty  min 
utes  to  climb.  He  did  this  for  exercise. 
When  we  would  part  he  would  say 
"Good  night!  good  night!  It  has  been 
a  good  meeting." 

He  would  take  up  portraits  of  persons 
and  study  them  intently.  One  day  I 
called  his  attention  to  the  apparent  ex 
cess  of  or  unusual  sensuality  shown  in 
the  face  of  George  Eliot,  by  a  woodcut 
portrait  of  her,  in  profile.  "  Yes,"  he 
answered,  "I  suppose  that  that  was  a 
large  element  of  her  attractiveness.  A 
most  intense  woman." 


64  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  not  vain  as  to  por 
traits  of  himself.  He  seemed  to  like  best 
the  photograph  showing  him  sitting  in  a 
chair  with  a  butterfly  on  his  hand.  The 
Gutekunst  portrait  of  him  about  1880  is 
the  best  portrait  I  have  ever  seen  of  him. 

Harpers,  in  the  Weekly,  published  a 
print  of  a  portrait  of  him  by  J.  W.  Alex 
ander.  Mr.  Whitman  remarked  to  me, 
in  which  I  fully  concurred,  that  it  was  a 
queer-looking  thing.  "  Sharp  and  peaked 
face — like  an  old  fox  on  the  watch  for 
something.  I  don't  believe  I  look  like 
that."  And  he  most  certainly  did  not. 
It  was  a  poor  portrait,  as  it  indicated 
nothing  of  Mr.  Whitman's  character. 

Many  persons,  observing  Mr.  Whit 
man's  slow  manner  of  walking,  hearing 
his  leisurely  way  of  speaking  and  his 
slow  manner,  got  the  impression  that  he 
was  posing.  Not  so,  by  any  means.  His 
oracular  way  of  talking  at  times  was  his 
way,  as  natural  to  him  as  was  his  head. 
He  seldom  let  out  ex  tempore  thought  on 
any  essential  topic.  He  knew  its  danger. 
To  interviewers  who  were  pumping  him 
for  future  or  newspaper  use,  he  was  most 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  65 

careful  in  speech.  He  knew  he  would 
not  get  an  opportunity  to  revise  his  utter 
ances,  and  did  not  want  to  be  crippled  by 
the  interjection  of  the  interviewer's  per 
sonal  impressions  into  his  talk. 

Mr.  Whitman,  some  way  or  another, 
kept  the  run  of  all  articles  published  as 
to  himself,  but  seldom  spoke  of  them. 
One  day,  in  a  casual  way,  I  called  his 
attention  to  a  reference  to  himself  in  the 
"Life  of  George  Eliot,"  by  J.  W.  Cross. 
It  had  been  out  but  a  few  days.  George 
Eliot  used  a  couplet  from  Whitman,  at 
the  head  of  one  of  her  chapters  in  the 
book,  and  noted  that  Mr.  Lewes  did  not 
like  it,  or  objected;  whether  to  the  use  of 
the  couplet  or  its  substance  one  could 
only  conjecture.  At  least  this  was  my 
impression  of  it.  Mr.  Whitman  said  to 
me,  in  this  connection,  "  Yes,  I  saw  it. 
I  wonder  what  she  meant?" 

Sometimes  he  received  vile  and  abusive 
letters  from  religious  or  other  fanatics, 
denouncing  him  and  his  work.  These  he 
read  and  carefully  laid  away.  I  noticed 
one  labeled  in  his  handwriting:  SANS 
CULOTTISM. 


66  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

Mr.  Whitman,  as  is  noted,  was  ex 
tremely  poor  in  Camden  after  his  brother 
moved  away,  and  up  to  about  1884.  His 
change  of  luck  began  about  then.  He  had 
previously,  to  use  a  sailor's  phrase,  been 
scudding  under  bare  poles.  But  he  had 
several  runs  of  luck  after  1884.  Private 
contributions  were  sent  to  him,  amount 
ing  to  many  hundreds  of  dollars.  Mr. 
George  W.  Childs  gave  him  the  nine 
hundred  or  twelve  hundred  dollars  which 
he  first  paid  down  on  his  house  in 
Camden.  Colonel  M.  Richards  Muckle 
told  me  that  first  and  last  Mr.  Childs  gave 
Mr.  Whitman  about  three  thousand  dol 
lars.  Now  as  to  this  house,  328  Mickle 
Street :  It  was  a  coop  at  best,  and  a 
much  better  located  and  more  comfort 
able  house  could  have  been  bought  in 
Camden  for  less  money  than  he  paid  for 
it.  I  think  that  the  fact  that  there  was  a 
tree  in  front  of  it,  that  it  was  convenient 
to  the  ferries,  and  that  lilacs  grew  in  the 
back  yard,  determined  Mr.  Whitman  to 
buy  it.  I  offered  him,  rent  free,  a  house 
and  twenty  city  lots  in  Philadelphia,  dur 
ing  his  lifetime,  where  he  could  have  had 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  67 

flowers,  a  horse,  good  air,  and  comfort ; 
but  he  preferred  Camden.  The  Mickle 
Street  house,  a  frame  one  of  six  rooms,  was 
cramped  and  full  of  cracks.  It  contained 
no  furnace,  and  his  bedroom  ceiling 
could  be  easily  touched  with  the  hand. 
He  enjoyed  it,  nevertheless.  It  was  situ 
ated  in  a  commercial  part  of  Camden, 
and  was  the  last  place  one  would  expect 
a  poet  to  select  for  a  home.  He  said  it 
was  a  restful  place,  but  that  when  he 
wanted  almost  entire  seclusion  and  abso 
lute  rest,  he  spent  the  day  in  Philadel 
phia  !  Sly  old  dog  !  The  street  cars  did 
not  run  in  Camden  on  Sundays  in  his 
time.  In  addition  to  a  noisy  location, 
it  was  aggravated  on  Sundays  by  the 
proximity  of  a  church,  with  a  frightfully 
vigorous  choir — a  most  rasping,  nerve  un 
settling  band  of  singers.  As  if  this  were 
not  enough,  there  was  certainly  the  vilest 
odor,  at  times  (depending  on  the  direc 
tion  of  the  wind,  if  from  the  southwest), 
from  toward  the  river  that  human  nose 
ever  encountered.  It  came  from  a  guano 
factory  on  the  Philadelphia  side  of  the 
Delaware  River.  Mr.  Whitman  laugh- 


68  WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

ingly  said,  when  I  remonstrated  with 
him  for  residing  amid  such  an  odor,  that 
I  must  only  visit  him  when  the  wind 
was  nor',  nor' east,  east,  or  sou' east,  and 
then  there  would  be  no  odor.  I  took  a 
friend  to  call  on  Mr.  Whitman  one  even 
ing.  The  wind  shifted  while  we  were 
sitting  talking  under  the  tree  on  the 
sidewalk.  Mr.  Whitman  had  worn  a 
hole  in  the  bark  of  the  tree  with  his 
right  foot.  My  friend,  an  artist,  not  over 
favorable  to  Mr.  Whitman's  scheme  of 
poetry,  and  possessing  a  sensitive  nose, 
looked  amazed.  He  gazed  at  me  as  the 
odor  enveloped  him.  He  got  up,  walked 
to  a  window  of  the  house,  put  his  head 
in,  sniffed,  walked  back,  sat  down, 
looked  at  Mr.  Whitman,  rose  up,  and 
abruptly  said,  "  Excuse  us  :  we  must  go. 
I  have  a  positive  engagement  at  8.30." 
We  hurried  away.  Once  a  block  away 
my  friend  grabbed  me.  "  If  ever  you  do 
such  a  thing  to  me  again,  I  will  brain 
you!  That  man's  poetry  is  called  i  rot 
ten.'  The  air  about  him,  even,  is  de 
cayed.  Did  you  ever  smell  anything  like 
it?  And  the  old  fiend  sat  there  and 


ME.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  69 

chatted  as  though,  the  balm  of  a  thou 
sand  flowers  encircled  him.  I  wonder  if 
my  clothing  is  permeated."  I  explained 
to  him,  that  the  odor  was  from  a  fertiliz 
ing  factory  on  the  Philadelphia  side  of 
the  Delaware  River,  and  that  its  sudden 
contact  with  us  was  due  to  a  change  in 
the  direction  of  the  wind.  UA11  right; 
but  what  kind  of  poetry  can  be  expected 
from  such  surroundings?  Advise  your 
friend  to  move,  and  at  once  !  His  poetry 
is  diseased  from  residing  where  he  does  ; 
and  he  will  probably  die  of  blood  poison 
ing  if  he  continues  to  live  there." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MR.    WHITMAN  IN   CAMDEN   (continued). 

Awe  as  to  the  Whitman  House—  Curiosity  of  Some  Neighbors-* 
His  House  Habits—  His  Lack  of  Order  and  Neatness  in  His 
House—  His  Desultory  Manner  of  Work—  His  Politics—  Lack  of 
Egotism—  Another  Friend  Taken  to  Visit  Mr.  Whitman—  Mr. 
Whitman's  Numerous  Visitors—  Visit  of  Mr.  Bram  Stoker—  Mr. 
Whitman's  Large  Correspondence—  His  Reverence  for  Wm. 
Cullen  Bryant—  His  Terror  of  Amateur  Poets  and  Poetry- 
Cautious  as  to  Interviews—  His  Alleged  Views  as  to  the  Crema 
tion  of  Baron  de  Palm. 


was  a  certain  awe  and  much 
-L  curiosity  in  the  neighborhood  as  to 
Mr.  Whitman's  house.  Mr.  Whitman 
was  a  poet  —  a  poet  who  followed  the 
business  for  a  living.  The  neighbors 
never  saw  a  wagon  drive  up  and  haul  the 
result  away,  as  at  other  factories.  What 
could  he  do  with  what  he  made  ?  Again, 
he  received  such  large  mails,  and  so  many 
visitors  called  —  long-haired  men,  short- 
haired  women,  all  manners  and  conditions 
of  humanity,  freaks,  cripples,  fat  men, 
and  thin  men.  The  Whitman  house 

70 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  71 

was  to  some  a  conglomerate  dime  museum. 
I  never  recall  so  many  fat  women  in  one 
locality  as  I  do  in  Mr.  Whitman's  neigh 
borhood  in  Camden.  They  were  appar 
ently  always  on  the  alert.  They  saw 
to  it  that  whatever  went  into  the 
Whitman  house,  he,  she,  or  it,  had  an 
eye  escort  in  and  an  eye  escort  out. 
Prom  behind  curtains,  shutters,  blinds, 
door-angles,  and  walls,  you  could  see 
"eyes"  upon  you.  Opposite,  as  I  slid 
into  Mr.  Whitman's  house  one  day,  sat 
a  bundle  of  dirt  and  bread  with  sugar 
on  it,  on  watch.  As  I  hurried  in,  I 
heard  it  yell:  "  Hurry,  mam  ;  a  fat  man 
at  Whitman's  door  !  "  And  presently  a 
female  watcher,  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,  pattered  to  the  door,  wiping  her 
wet  arms  on  a  check  apron.  She  was  at 
the  family  wash  !  I  heard  her  say,  as 
she  retreated:  "Jimmie,  watch  if  he 
comes  out."  This  confirmed  the  sus 
picion  I  had  long  had,  that  some  in  the 
vicinity  held  that  persons  entered,  but 
did  not  leave  the  Whitman  house,  and 
that  they  mysteriously  disappeared; 
whether  into  the  stove,  into  sausage 


V2  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

after  the  blood  being  sucked,  or  what, 
I  never  heard  ;  but  there  was  an  apparent 
question  as  to  all  of  this  in  the  minds 
of  many  of  Mr.  Whitman's  neighbors. 
At  any  rate  he  and  his  house  were  closely 
watched  by  some  curious  people  who 
had  never  lived  near  a  poet  before.  In 
addition,  Mr.  Whitman  and  Mrs.  Davis 
minded  their  own  business.  That  Cam- 
den  should  contain  two  such  persons,  in 
one  street,  was  enough  to  create  wonder. 

Now,  with  all  of  the  above,  many  in 
Camden  may  not  have  understood  or  ap 
preciated  Mr.  Whitman's  poetry,  but  I 
know  that  they  did  the  man.  The  people 
there  treated  him  with  kindness  and 
affection,  and  Mr.  Whitman  appreciated 
it.  So  far  as  personal  attention  and  con 
sideration  could  go,  Camden  was  the  best 
of  places  for  Mr.  Whitman  to  reside,  as 
it  contains  a  most  generous,  kindly,  and 
appreciative  people. 

I  used  to  see  a  spotted  coach-dog 
and  a  cat  about  his  house.  They  both 
seemed  to  have  an  understanding  with 
him  ;  at  all  events,  they  were  all  on  good 
terms.  The  dog  and  cat  would  sit  at  his 


MR.     WHITMAN'S     MANNER    OF     JOTTING     DOWN     SUBJECTS 

FOR   POEMS. 
Face  page  73 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  73 

feet  and  peer  into  his  face  by  the  hour. 
Sometimes  he  would  throw  a  ball  of  cord 
or  cotton  twine  on  the  floor  and  the  cat 
would  roll  it  back  to  him.  This  he  and 
she  would  do  for  hours  at  a  time.  He 
would  sit  three  and  four  hours  with  this 
cat  and  the  ball  of  twine  for  his  compan 
ion,  and  not  speak  a  word.  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  he  would  pick  up  a  pen  (one 
was  always  at  hand  on  the  window-sill) 
and  write  for  a  time  on  a  tablet  which  lay 
upon  his  knee.  He  sometimes  wrote  on 
scraps  of  paper,  on  the  inside  of  envel 
opes  addressed  to  him,  on  the  backs  or 
on  unwritten  portions  of  letters  received 
by  him,  and  on  paper  received  around 
packages  ;  in  fact,  on  anything  that  would 
carry  ink.  His  manuscript  was  like  Jo 
seph's  coat,  of  many  colors.  Sometimes 
he  used  half  a  dozen  kinds  of  paper  on 
which  to  complete  one  poem — a  verse  or 
two  on  each,  and  then  he  would  pin  them 
together.  His  poems  he  worked  over  and 
over  again.  He  would  roll  a  completed 
poem,  or  a  book,  or  an  article,  up,  wrap  it 
about  with  a  piece  of  twine,  and  throw  it 
in  the  corner  of  his  room.  In  his  bedroom 


74  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

were  packages  of  manuscript  in  baskets, 
in  bundles,  or  in  piles.  Some  of  them 
were  mixed  up  with  the  lot  of  short,  cut- 
pine  wood,  which  he  kept  to  fire  up  his 
sheet-iron  stove.  He  used  the  crook  on 
his  cane  to  hook  out  what  he  wanted  from 
the  pile  on  the  floor.  Usually,  before 
sending  a  poem  or  a  manuscript  to  a  paper, 
or  away,  he  had  it  set  up  in  type  and  sent 
it  to  the  publisher  printed.  I  asked  him 
who  did  this  work  for  him.  He  laughed 
and  answered,  "  Oh,  an  old  fellow  of  my 
acquaintance."  I  often  wondered  if  he 
did  not  go  to  a  case  somewhere  in  Cam- 
den  and  set  them  up  himself.  In  most 
cases  he  used  a  pen — a  huge  Gillott  or 
Falcon,  but  sometimes  a  pencil. 

Mr.  Whitman  worked  in  a  desultory 
manner.  For  days  he  would  not  write. 
He  received  and  read  many  newspapers 
and  current  miscellany,  including  maga 
zines.  He  cut  slips  from  newspapers 
or  periodicals,  put  them  away,  and  used 
them  in  many  cases  for  subjects.  He 
would  pin  them  to  bits  of  paper  and 
make  notes  on  them.  He  read  very  few 
books.  I  asked  him  why.  He  replied, 


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MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  75 

"A  man  who  wants  to  have  original 
ideas,  wants  to  let  other  people's  alone." 
Sometimes  poets  sent  Mm  copies  of  their 
books.  Many  of  these  he  gave  away, 
with  his  autograph.  I  carried  an  offer  to 
him  for  a  poem  of  three  verses,  on  "The 
Mill,"  for  a  monthly  industrial  publica 
tion.  He  was  to  receive  twenty-five 
dollars  for  it.  He  told  me,  when  I  asked 
him  to  hurry  it  up,  as  the  people  wanted 
it,  that  he  had  tried,  and  tried  again,  but 
that  it  wouldn't  come.  "You  know,  in 
writing  poetry,  the  machine  won't  always 
work.  Mine  won't  in  this  case,  and  usu 
ally  I  have  to  wait  until  it  does."  The 
poem  was  never  written.  He  always 
seemed  to  me  to  be  thoroughly  honest  in 
whatever  he  did. 

When  taken  with  fresh  spells  of  sick 
ness,  he  would  think  his  work  closed.  He 
practically  closed  his  book  or  books,  sev 
eral  times.  Still,  when  better  from  the  at 
tacks,  he  would  re-open  and  add  to  them. 

In  politics  Mr.  Whitman,  in  my  time, 
rather  inclined  to  be  a  Democrat.  He 
had  been  a  Republican,  and  was  a  Free- 
Trader.  Most  literary  people  are  Free- 


?6  WALT   WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

Traders.  Theory  is  practice  to  most  of 
them,  and  that  is  why  so  many  of  the 
purely  literary  people  die  poor.  He 
admired  General  Grant,  General  Sheridan, 
and  Admiral  Farragut.  He  was  disin 
clined  to  talk  much  of  the  War  at  any  time. 
He  had  an  affectionate  regard  for  the  South 
and  its  people.  He  had  lived  among  them 
and  had  been  hospitably  treated.  In 
summing  up  the  War  and  its  results,  he 
seemed  to  skip  all  of  its  incidents,  and 
ignored  the  reconstruction  period.  His 
idea  was  that  as  the  people  of  the  pres 
ent  time  would  soon  pass  away,  and  with 
them  much  of  existing  prejudice,  while 
national  unity  for  self-protection  was  an 
absolute  necessity — mere  opinions  and 
prejudices  of  existing  politicians  were 
of  but  little  moment  as  against  the 
engulfing  logic  of  necessity  and  time. 
The  constant  wars  of  words  between  poli 
ticians  were  to  him  the  wriggle  of  worms 
as  they  went  on  the  hook  of  oblivion. 
He  looked  upon  the  early  Northern  Abo 
litionists  as  generally  firebrands  and 
inciters  to  insurrection,  and  full  brothers 
in  this  to  the  Southern  fire-eaters. 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  77 

The  certain,  mighty  future  of  the  Re 
public,  in  his  eyes,  caused  temporary 
political  excitements  to  seem  as  specks 
in  the  rim  of  the  wheel.  He  believed  in 
moral  suasion  in  governing  men,  but 
in  the  present  conglomerate  condition  of 
our  population,  thought  and  believed  that 
force,  and  that  of  the  promptest  kind, 
was  a  valuable  aid  to  moral  suasion. 
He  loved  humanity,  and  believed  he 
could  help  it  in  its  upward  and  progress 
ive  march  toward  a  better  condition, 
mentally,  morally,  and  physically.  I 
think  the  bettering  of  the  moral  condi 
tion  of  mankind  was  always  uppermost 
in  his  mind.  He  could  not  see  why  a 
man  who  labored  with  his  hands  might 
not  be  educated,  as  well  as  one  who 
worked  with  his  head. 

His  egotism,  if  he  had  any,  was  never 
visible  to  me  in  his  speech  or  personal 
acts.  I  never  met  a  man  of  such  stand 
ing  who  possessed  as  little  personal 
egotism,  or  rather  who  made  it  less  mani 
fest  in  contact  with  him ;  and  yet  he 
impressed  others,  and  even  persons  of 
much  observation  and  ability,  as  a  seeth- 


78  WALT   WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

ing  mass  of  egotism.  I  recall  that  a 
visitor  to  Mr.  Whitman,  with  me  as 
sponsor,  abused  me  roundly  after  a  visit 
to  him  for  in  any  way  aiding,  abetting, 
or  giving  countenance  to  such  an  "  egotis 
tical  old  humbug."  Another,  whom  I 
escorted  in  person  to  Camden,  sat  in  the 
quasi-dark  of  Mr.  Whitman's  small  parlor 
in  an  easy-chair,  and  apparently  listened* 
while  I  drew  Mr.  Whitman  out  on  various 
topics.  I  never  heard  him  talk  as  well. 
My  friend  sat  in  a  dark  corner  of  the 
room,  apparently  a  wrapt  listener.  About 
ten  o'clock  I  arose  and  said  to  my  friend, 
"  Well,  we  had  better  go.  Mr.  Whitman 
is  tired,  and  this  is  his  hour  for  retiring." 
" Certainly,"  said  my  friend,  "what  a 
charming  evening  I  have  passed !  Mr. 
Whitman,  may  I  have  the  honor  of  call 
ing  again?"  " Certainly,"  replied  the 
"good  gray";  "certainly,  come  when 
you  like."  We  retired  in  good  order. 
As  we  were  going  down  Mickle  Street 
toward  the  ferry  for  Philadelphia  my 
friend  gave  a  yawn  and  said :  "I  find 
that  when  I  nap  early  in  the  evening  I 
cannot  sleep  well  at  night !  "  "  You  old 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  79 

villain!"  I  answered,  "and  you  were 
asleep  all  of  the  time  at  Mr.  Whit 
man's?"  "I  was,  most  certainly.  The 
poet's  voice  lulled  me  into  blessed  repose 
two  minutes  after  he  began  to  talk. 
Really  he  is  a  remarkable  man.  I  have 
had  doctor  after  doctor  try  to  give  me 
early  sleep,  but  they  all  failed.  Count  me 
in  when  any  aid  is  required  for  Mr. Whit 
man.  He  is  truly  a  remarkable  man — 
should  be  ' Doctor'  Whitman." 

His  visitors  at  Camden  were  sometimes 
numerous  and  of  all  sorts  and  kinds. 
His  latch  string  was  always  out.  Even 
when  he  was  bedridden  Mrs.  Davis  wel 
comed  guests  or  callers  and  gave  them 
civil  answers.  A  visit  to  Mr.  Whitman 
at  his  house,  or  meeting  him  at  other 
places,  was  to  many  persons  a  decided 
disappointment.  They  did  not  find  what 
they  expected  to  find — a  giant,  uncouth, 
vigorous,  terrible,  who  would  now  and 
then  open  wide  his  capacious  and  bar 
baric  mouth  and  emit  "yawps."  Their 
ideas  of  Mr.  Whitman  were  in  most  cases 
formed  from  adverse  criticisms  and  de 
scriptions.  They  found ,  instead  of  a  freak 


80  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

fit  for  a  dime  museum  coming  from  resi 
dence  in  a  hole  in  the  ground  in  the  cellar, 
and  terrible  in  his  wrath,  a  quiet,  dignified, 
and  lovable  man,  soft  of  speech  and  sweet 
in  manner,  and  an  everyday  man  in  his 
thoughts  and  ideas,  and  without  even 
self-assertion.  Their  disappointment  in 
some  cases  was  great,  and  they  did  not 
hesitate  to  speak  it  out,  and  sometimes 
in  Mr.  Whitman's  presence.  He  would 
chuckle  and  laugh  in  a  quiet  way  and 
reply,  "  Bless  us  !  Bless  us  !  " 

Persons  frequently  had  a  strong  aver 
sion  to  meeting  Mr.  Whitman — a  sen 
tence,  or  a  line,  in  some  of  his  work  had 
prejudiced  them  against  him.  I  asked 
an  old  friend,  a  cultivated  gentleman,  to 
permit  me  to  present  him  to  Mr.  Whit 
man.  "  Not  to-day,  thank  you  !  That's 
the  gentleman  who  invited  his  soul  to 
loaf." 

It  was  most  difficult  to  get  Mr.  Whit 
man  to  give  an  opinion  of  a  visitor  or 
caller.  I  do  not  recall  that  he  did  so  to 
me  more  than  a  dozen  times  in  all  of  our 
intercourse.  He  was  particularly  pleased 
when  less  important  persons  came  to  see 


MR    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  81 

him.  I  recall  the  great  pleasure  he 
expressed  respecting  a  visit  from  Mr. 
Tyars  and  Mr.  Alexander,  I  think,  of 
Henry  Irving' s  Lyceum  Company  in  1883 
or  1884.  Mr.  Whitman  was  pleased  with 
their  appearance  and  manner,  and  espe 
cially  that  they  had  read  and  appreciated 
his  books  while  at  home  in  England. 
Mr.  Whitman  looked  with  favor  upon 
many  besides  the  very  well  known  and 
distinguished.  I  also  recall  a  visit  I  made 
to  Mr.  Whitman  accompanied  by  Brain 
Stoker,  A.  M.,  of  London,  in  1885.  It 
was  a  cold,  raw  day,  but  Mr.  Whitman 
lighted  the  sheet-iron  stove  and  made  us 
comfortable.  Mr.  Stoker,  a  man  of  intel 
ligence  and  cultivation,  having  had  the 
advantage  of  association  with  the  most 
cultivated  in  all  walks  of  contemporary 
English  intellectual  life,  was  at  his  best. 
Mr.  Whitman  was  captivated.  Mr.  Stoker 
had  previously  met  Mr.  Whitman  at  my 
house  in  Philadelphia  in  1884.  We  re 
mained  an  hour,  and  then  left  in  spite  of 
his  protest.  Many  days  after  this  visit 
he  referred  to  it  by  saying :  "  And  friend 
Stoker;  where  is  he  now?"  I  replied. 


82  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

"In  Chicago."  "Well,  well;  what  a 
broth  of  a  boy  he  is !  My  gracious,  he 
knows  enough  for  four  or  five  ordinary 
men ;  and  what  tact !  Henry  Irving 
knows  a  good  thing  when  he  tries  it,  eh  ? 
Stoker  is  an  adroit  lad,  and  many  think 
that  he  made  Mr.  Irving' s  path,  in  a 
business  way,  a  smooth  one  over  here."  I 
replied,  " Indeed!"  " I  should  say  so," 
was  his  answer.  "See  that  he  comes 
over  again  to  see  me  before  he  leaves  the 
country.  He's  like  a  breath  of  good, 
healthy,  breezy  sea  air." 

He  had  a  large  correspondence  at  times 
from  and  with  sensible  people.  He  did 
not  inspire  giddy  young  women  to  write 
him  letters,  going  into  gush,  over  him  or 
his  work.  In  fact,  he  received  few  such. 
However,  many  thoughtful  women  wrote 
him.  Scores  of  books,  pamphlets,  and 
magazines  were  sent  him,  and  papers  as 
well. 

He  had  a  positive  reverence  for  William 
Cullen  Bryant,  whom  he  always  called 
"Mr.  Bryant."  Mr.  Bryant  had  several 
times  tendered  him  very  friendly  services. 
For  Mr.  Emerson  and  John  G.  Whittier 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  83 

his  respect  and  admiration  were  un 
bounded.  He  seemed  to  avoid  the  names 
of  politicians  or  soldiers  in  his  talks.  He 
was  seldom,  when  with  one  or  two 
persons,  personally  reminiscent  unless 
pressed.  At  an  evening  company  or  in 
social  circles  for  chat  or  instruction  he 
would  read  poetry, — preferably  not  his 
own,— talk,  read  a  paper,  or  become 
reminiscent  as  to  others.  As  I  have 
said,  he  never  sought  men's  society  be 
cause  they  were  great  or  lauded  above 
their  fellows,  and  this  probably  accounted 
for  his  lack  of  personal  knowledge 
of  the  leading  contemporary  public 
men. 

Mr.  Whitman  had  a  terror  of  amateur 
poetry.  Beginners  in  poetry  sometimes 
visited,  and  many  times  wrote  and  sub 
mitted  to  him  samples,  for  opinions.  He 
positively  declined  to  give  them.  I  was 
much  interested  in  an  account  given  me 
by  a  friend,  then  moving  on  poetical  lines, 
of  a  visit  he  made  to  Whitman  in  1885. 
He  carried  with  him  a  letter  of  introduc 
tion  from  a  leading  newspaper  editor, 
which  alone,  outside  of  his  personal 


84  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

merits,  would  secure  him  attention.  My 
friend  had  his  pockets  crammed  with  his 
own  poetry,  descriptive  of  nature.  He  was 
just  from  college,  where  he  had  acquired 
local  credit  as  editor  of  the  college  paper 
and  as  a  writer  of  good  verses.  Mr.  W  hit 
man  was  cordial  and  gave  him  an  inter 
view  of  an  hour  and  a  half.  It  was  the 
day  of  General  U.  S.  Grant's  funeral,  in 
New  York  City.  Mr.  Whitman  dilated 
at  length  on  General  Grant's  greatness 
and  of  his  services  to  the  Republic, 
meanwhile  keeping  a  weather  eye  on  my 
friend.  Mr.  Whitman  also  read  a  letter 
he  had  just  received  from  a  young  lady 
in  London,  giving  details  of  a  visit  to 
Mr.  Tennyson,  to  whom  she  had  a  letter 
of  introduction  from  Mr.  Whitman.  My 
friend,  as  the  time  for  retiring  drew 
near,  became  anxious.  Mr.  Whitman 
seemed,  by  intuition,  to  have  discovered 
that  he  was  a  versifier.  Presently  the 
gentleman  remarked:  "And  Mr.  Whit 
man,  do  you  read  poetry  ?  "  The  "  good 
gray"  at  once  took  the  cue,  and 
promptly  and  vigorously  answered : 
"  No,  sir  ;  only  that  of  Emerson,  Tenny- 


MR.  WHITMAN'S   MANNER     OF     MAKING    NOTES 

Facing  page  85 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  85 

son,  and  Burns,  and  the  classics ;  only 
these  and  nothing  more.  Most  positively 
no!"  My  friend  has  always  since  been 
thankful  that  he  did  not  proffer  his 
manuscripts  to  Mr.  Whitman  before  ask 
ing  the  question,  and  particularly  thank 
ful  that  he  never  referred  to  them  at  all. 
He  retired  in  good  order,  after  a  pleasant 
interview,  convinced  of  the  poet's  shrewd 
ness. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  cautious  as  to  in 
terviewers.  He  had  had  an  amusing  ex 
perience  with  a  newspaper  reporter  in  the 
matter  of  the  cremation  of  Baron  de  Palm 
in  December,  1876.  The  baron' s  body  was 
the  first  to  be  cremated  at  the  crematory 
at  Washington,  Pa.,  and  the  proprietors 
were  working  every  possible  string  to 
advertise  their  new  industry.  The  press 
throughout  the  country  was  utilized  to 
an  unusual  extent.  On  the  morning 
of  December  6,  1876,  Mr.  Whitman  was 
handed  a  copy  of  a  leading  Philadelphia 
paper  containing  an  account  of  the  burn 
ing  of  the  baron's  body,  and  an  opinion 
as  to  the  same  by  himself !  He  was 
highly  amused.  He  had  not  before  heard 


86  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

of  the  burning,  and  had  never  given  a 
mortal  an  opinion  on  the  subject : 

A  POET  REGARDS  IT  WITH  TREMBLING. 

Walt  Whitman  talked  of  the  cremation  of 
Baron  de  Palm  at  his  pleasant  home  in  Camden. 
"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  about  this  thing; 
God's  acre  won't  be  watered  with  tears  or  bloom 
ing  in  flowers  any  more  if  the  grim  old  furnace 
stands  there  and  the  white  ashes  are  blown  by  the 
winds.  Why  do  these  fellows  want  to  disturb  us? 
You  have  lived  long  enough,  my  boy,  to  see 
pretty  nearly  all  your  most  cherished  beliefs 
swept  away  by  these  reckless  thinkers.  Not  that  I 
would  have  the  world  kept  in  ignorance,  or  bound 
to  a  baneful  practice  by  sympathy  for  the  soulless 
forms  that  have  life  only  in  our  memories. 
Knowledge  is  good,  if  it  does  knock  cherished  de 
lusions,  and  we  had  better  burn  our  dead,  if  pre 
serving  the  corpse  underground  is  going  to  wither 
us  all.  No,  I  don't  believe  in  it,  and  I  don't  want 
to  see  the  practice  become  general.  It  makes  a 
fellow  tremble,"  said  the  good  gray  poet,  "to 
think  of  the  iron-hearted  progress  of  the  age.  If, 
as  I  have  read  somewhere,  these  old  moldering 
bodies  are  raising  the  devil  with  the  living,  I  sup 
pose  sanitary  considerations  will  bring  about 
burning.  But  I  would  rather  my  dead  were  car 
ried  away  out  of  the  pathway  of  living  people, 
who  should  never  be  let  near  the  graves  unless  to 
trim  up  the  flowers  once  in  a  while*  The  body 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  GAMDEN.  87 

with  life  in  it  is  a  beautiful  thing.  I  don't  think 
we  do  right,  St.  Paul  and  the  rest  of  us,  in  deriding 
its  warmth  of  appetite  and  the  passions  that  attend 
upon  the  flesh.  And  when  the  life  is  gone  out  of 
it  I  rather  respect  the  old  shell  for  all  it  has  been, 
as  well  as  for  all  it  has  contained." 

Along  with  the  arrival  of  the  paper 
containing  the  above,  came  a  note  from 
the  reporter  who  had  written  and  fur 
nished  the  paper  with  the  Whitman  inter 
view  : 

DECEMBER  6,  1876. 
DEAR  MR.  WHITMAN  : 

You  will  see  by  the ,  which  I  send  you, 

that  I  took  a  liberty  with  your  name  last  evening. 
I  hope  you  will  not  be  angry  with  me.  I  had 
interviews  with  bishops  and  doctors  to  get,  and 
I  had  no  time  to  get  over  to  see  you  till  it  was 
too  late.  So  I  wrote  something,  getting  in  one  or 
two  things  you  had  said  to  me  in  previous  con 
versations.  It  won't  outrage  you,  I  hope.  If  it 
does,  visit  your  displeasure  upon  yours,  faithfully, 


On  the  back  of  the  above  is  indorsed, 
"  Altitudinous  and  Himalayan  gall." 


CHAPTER  V. 

MR.    WHITMAN   IN   CAMDEN  (concluded). 

Dinner  on  His  Seventy-second  Birthday — "  The  Greatest  Man  in  the 
World"— His  Illness  in  1888— Attempt  to  Have  Him  Make 
His  Will— Help  from  His  Friends— His  Canadian  Nurse, 
Eddie  Wilkins— Wilkins'  Account  of  Hie  Habits. 

ON  his  seventy-second  birthday,  May 
31,  1891,  Mr.  Whitman  gave  his 
friends  his  own  house  to  hold  a  dinner  in. 
It  was  a  curious  and  interesting  gathering 
—five  women  and  twenty-seven  men.  The 
cross  or  head  table  was  set  in  the  little 
parlor,  and  the  extending  one  out  to  and 
in  the  small  room  behind  the  parlor.  It 
was  a  fairly  good  dinner  and  well  served. 
The  rooms  were  as  hot  as  a  bake-oven,  so 
that  we  had  to  have  the  hall  door  leading 
to  the  street  open.  Mrs.  Davis  was  in 
great  fear  that  everything  would  not  go 
right.  The  waiters  were  Germans.  The 
accounts  given  in  the  press  and  in  some 
publications  I  have  read  seem  to  have  no 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  89 

local  color.  Mr.  Whitman  was  ill,  but 
came  downstairs  in  his  own  hobbling  way 
and  was  seated  as  host.  We  began 
about  7  P.  M.,  and  were  done  at  10.  Mr. 
Whitman  was  tired  and  wanted  to  retire 
early.  There  was  much  hand-shaking 
and  good  private  chat.  It  was  a  most 
unusual  collection  of  people  (myself  being 
left  oat),  and  a  rather  singular  collection, 
physiologically  considered.  There  were 
some  very  bright  men  present.  The 
women,  with  one  exception,  I  did  not 
know.  The  published  accounts  of  this 
dinner  give  a  color  of  supreme  egotism  in 
Mr.  Whitman  which  was  not  correct.  Of 
course,  he  was  proud  of  the  event,  and 
delighted  to  meet  his  friends,  but  he  did 
not  gush  and  never  once  lost  his  head. 
Dr.  R.  M.  Bucke  sat  near  me,  and  once 
or  twice  called  my  attention  to  the  fact  of 
Mr.  Whitman's  self-possession,  and  of  his 
talk  being  as  clear  as  ever,  or  when  at  his 
best.  One  of  the  material  incidents  occur 
ring  at  this  dinner  is  not  noted.  It  was 
near  its  end.  After  many  letters  regret 
ting  absence  and  necessity  for  declining, 
Mr.  Whitman  was  called  upon  to  speak 


90  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

by  Dr.  Daniel  G.  Brinton,  who  was  toast- 
master.  Mr.  Whitman  remained  seated 
during  the  entire  dinner.  Then  a  general 
symposium  took  place,  Mr.  Whitman 
leading.  JS"ear  the  end  of  the  dinner  a 
gentleman  sitting  near  me  arose  and  began 
to  speak.  He  said  in  part :  "  I  passed  a 
man  in  Philadelphia  to-night  as  I  was 
coming  over  here  to  dinner  and  told  him 
^  that  I  was  going  to  dine  with  the  greatest 
man  in  the  world. "  The  company  looked 
up  suddenly,  and  Mr.  Whitman  said  : 
"  Oh  !  oh  !  don't  plaster  it  on  too  thickly; 
please  don't."  The  gentleman  con 
tinued:  "I  will  tell  you  why  I  think 
him  the  greatest  man  in  the  world— 
because  he  taught  me  to  know  myself." 
"  Ah  !  "  said  Mr.  Whitman,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief.  He  neither  wanted  nor  cared  for 
flattery.  The  gentleman  in  conclusion 
read:  uCaptain,  Oh!  My  Captain." 
While  an  able  and  an  intelligent  man,  he 
is  not  an  elocutionist,  but  has  a  strong 
voice.  Hardly  had  the  first  sentence 
escaped  him  before  an  enormous  dog, 
attracted  by  his  speech,  came  in  the  hall 
doorway  from  the  street,  entered  the 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  91 

doorway  of  the  back  parlor,  put  Ms  nose 
up  in  the  air,  and  uttered  a  series  of  the 
most  undogly  howls  I  have  ever  listened 
to.  It  was  so  funny  that  we  laughed 
until  the  tears  ran  down  our  cheeks. 
The  dog  continued  to  howl  until  the  gen 
tleman  had  finished,  and  then  left  as 
abruptly  as  he  came.  Whether  it  was 
the  poetry  or  the  method  of  reading  it 
which  caused  the  dog's  uneasiness  we 
never  concluded. 

A  singular  fact  was  that  during  this 
dinner  there  were  no  loungers  about  the 
front  of  the  house.  No  boys  looking  in 
the  windows,  yelling  or  throwing  mud  or 
stones — no  curiosity  gazers.  Respect  for 
Mr.  Whitman  possibly  prevented  this. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  very  ill  in  June, 
1888.  It  was  thought  by  his  physicians 
that  he  would  die  early  in  that  month. 
Dr.  R.  M.  Bucke  unexpectedly  came  from 
Canada  to  see  him.  Mr.  Whitman  had  a 
stroke  of  paralysis  on  the  6th  or  7th  of 
June,  and  they  sent  for  me.  Dr.  Bucke 
came  to  my  house  in  Philadelphia  on  the 
morning  of  Sunday,  June  9,  1888.  He 
had  been  with  Mr.  Whitman  all  the  night 


92  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

before  and  had  found  him,  as  he  thought, 
in  a  comatose  condition.  He  was  sorely 
troubled  by  the  fact  that  Mr.  Whitman 
had  made  no  will ;  at  least,  no  tidings  of 
one  had  been  had,  and  that  his  papers 
and  manuscripts  would  be  scattered. 
Thinking  that  he  was  very  low  and  having 
no  idea  of  Mr.  Whit  man's  pecuniary  con 
dition,  Dr.  Bucke  gave  me  his  views  of 
how  Mr.  Whitman  must  be  cared  for  in 
the  future.  Mrs.  Davis  was  worn  out, 
and  a  permanent  nurse  must  be  provided 
for  him  and  until  his  death.  (He  lived 
four  years  after  this.)  I  agreed,  while  I 
knew  that  Mr.  Whitman  had  money,  and 
said  that  I  would  pay  my  share.  Eventu 
ally  the  expense  of  this  nurse  and  other 
incidentals  was  borne  by  a  monthly  tax 
on  some  young  admirers  of  Mr.  Whitman. 
I  only  wish  I  had  their  names  to  insert 
here.  Mr.  Whitman,  I  am  sure,  never 
knew  of  this.  Mr.  Horace  L.  Traubel 
was  one  of,  and  perhaps  the  person  who 
collected  this  relief.  Dr.  Bucke  asked 
me  to  meet  him  about  noon  at  the  house 
of  Mr.  Thomas  B.  Harned  at  Camden,  a 
friend,  and  a  substantial  one,  to  Mr.  Whit- 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  93 

man.  I  was  there  at  1  P.  M.  I  found 
that  Mr.  Harned  was  also  chiefly  con 
cerned  that  Mr.  Whitman  had  made  no 
will  directing  the  disposition  of  his  liter 
ary  works  or  remains.  Neither  one  of 
them  seemed  to  have  any  idea  that  Mr. 
Whitman  had  any  considerable  sum  of 
money  in  bank.  Mr.  Harned' s  plan  was, 
that  we  three  should  be  his  literary 
executors,  and  on  this  idea  we  were  to 
interview  Mr.  Whitman  at  the  supposed 
point  of  death,  and  ask  what  he  wanted 
to  do  in  the  matter  of  a  will.  We  pro 
ceeded  to  his  house  on  Mickle  Street,  and 
were  shown  in  by  Mrs.  Davis.  We  walked 
upstairs  to  Mr.  Whitman's  room  and  sat 
down  by  his  bed. 

Before  we  went  up,  however,  I  met  Dr. 
William  Osier,  the  famous  Philadelphia 
physician,  who  had  just  left  Mr.  Whit 
man.  He  said  that  he  was  in  a  bad  way, 
but  he  might  weather  the  storm.  Dr. 
Osier  frequently  came  professionally  to 
see  Mr.  Whitman,  and  at  a  great  loss  of 
valuable  time.  I  think  Dr.  Weir  Mitchell 
suggested  it.  He  never  charged  for  such 
service.  Dr.  Osier  expressed  amazement 


94  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

Sit  Mr.    Whitman's    vitality    under  the 
circumstances. 

We  three  sat  near  Mr.  Whitman's  bed. 
He  was  dressed  and  lying  in  a  semi-con 
scious  state  outside  the  cover  on  the  bed. 
Dr.  Bucke  called  him  and  then  touched 
him.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  he  was 
aroused.  Finally  he  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  about.  Catching  Mr.  Harned's 
face  first,  he  then  looked  at  me.  Waiting 
a  bit  and  as  if  coming  back  from  a  dream, 
he  said,  with  a  quiet  look  of  humor,  "  Ah, 
the  two  Toms,"  and  then  to  Dr.  Bucke, 
"  and  you,  Maurice."  He  laid  back  and 
rested  and  after  a  while  continued,  "  And 
how  are  you  all  this  bright  morning?" 
Who  could  help  but  smile  even  in  the  face 
of  a  dying  man  at  this  ?  We  had  come  to 
probably  bid  him  farewell.  He  inquired 
as  to  our  healths.  Dr.  Bucke  went  to 
business  at  once  and  said,  "  Walt,  have 
you  any  will?"  "No."  " Don't  you 
want  to  make  one?"  "  Have  you  one 
writ?"  "No;  we  have  none  writ." 
"  Well,  show  it  to  me  when  it  is  ready, 
but  there  is  no  hurry,"  and  he  laid  back 
with  a  quiet  smile.  As  I  took  a  side 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  95 

glance  at  him,  I  thought  I  could  detect  a 
sly  wink  as  his  eye  caught  mine.  We 
retired  in  good  order  to  the  parlor  below. 
I  insisted  that  Mr.  Whitman  was  not 
going  to  die,  and  that  the  humor  of  the 
scene  above  had  struck  him  and  would  aid 
in  prolonging  his  life.  The  others  laughed 
at  this.  TTie  sole  motive  of  the  two  gen 
tlemen  was  for  Mr.  Whitman's  good,  and 
to  prevent  the  scattering  of  the  results  of 
his  literary  labors.  I  am  not  sure  that 
any  will  was  prepared  at  this  time  by 
Mr.  Harned.  A  few  days  after  this,  Mr. 
Whitman  asked  Mr.  Harned  if  a  woman 
could  be  an  executor  of  an  estate  (he 
wanted  his  brother's  wife,  Louisa  W. 
Whitman,  to  close  his  estate),  and  also  to 
give  him  the  form  of  the  attesting  clause 
to  a  will  under  New  Jersey  law.  Mr. 
Harned  did  this.  Mr.  Whitman  wrote 
out  his  own  will  after  this  and  provided 
for  Mrs.  Davis  as  he  wanted  to  do,  and, 
I  believe,  made  his  sister-in-law,  Mrs. 
George  Whitman,  executrix.  This  will 
was  replaced  by  the  one  made  December 
29,  1891,  and  with,  a  codicil  of  January  1, 
1892.  If  Mr.  Whitman  was  physically 


96  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

competent  to  make  a  will  unaided  Decem 
ber  29,  1891,  his  physicians  were  not  at 
that  time  aware  of  it. 

The  next  day  after  this  visit  I  wrote  to 
several  of  Mr.  Whitman's  friends  in  Phil 
adelphia,  as  to  the  need  of  a  nurse  and  as 
to  Mr.  Whitman's  illness,  and  during  the 
next  few  days  received  letters  from  Mr. 
George  W.  Childs,  Horace  Howard  Ftir- 
ness,  and  George  H.  Boker,  inclosing  sub 
stantial  checks  for  Mr.  Whitman,  to  the 
order  of  Mr.  Thomas  B.  Harned.  The 
letter  of  Mr.  Boker  was  : 

1720  WALNUT  STREET,  July  12,  1888. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  D.: 

I  inclose  you  something  for  dear  old  Walt,  and 
may  God  smooth  his  way  to  his  rest.  Life  for 
many  a  day  must  have  lost  its  charms  for  him 
and  reconciled  him  to  the  taking  of  the  last  step. 
On  reading  your  note,  I  almost  involuntarily 
exclaimed : 

"  Oh  !  let  him  pass  ;  he  hates  him 
That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world, 
Stretch  him  out  longer." 

Yours  very  sincerely, 
GEORGE  H.  BOKER. 

Mr.  Whitman  afterward  often  laughed 
with  me  over  the  attempted  will -making 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  97 

of  June,  1888.  If  there  was  anything  in 
the  world  he  disliked,  it  was  attempts  to 
control  or  to  patronize  him.  I  know, 
however,  that  he  fully  understood  the 
motives  of  Dr.  Bucke  and  Mr.  Earned 
in  the  matter  of  this  proposed  will.  It 
was  not  for  mere  personal  self -adulation 
or  notoriety. 

The  nurse  provided  for  Mr.  Whitman 
after  our  meeting  of  June  9,  1888,  Eddie 
Wilkins,  a  fine  manly  Canadian  of 
twenty- two,  proved  a  most  excellent 
one,  and  Mr.  Whitman  became  fond 
of  him.  Mr.  Wilkins  frequently  came 
over  from  Camden  to  my  house  with 
messages  and  business  matters  from  Mr. 
Whitman.  He  left  Mr.  Whitman  in 
October,  1889,  and  was  succeeded  as  nurse 
by  Warren  Fritzinger,  a  young  man  of 
twenty-five  and  a  son  of  Mrs.  Mary  O. 
Davis,  his  housekeeper  and  friend.  Mr. 
Fritzinger,  "  Warry,"  remained  with  Mr. 
Whitman  from  October,  1889,  until  his 
death,  a  faithful  and  earnest  man.  The 
last  visit  Mr.  Wilkins  made  to  me  was  on 
October  16,  1889.  I  made  a  note  of  his 
conversation  : 


98  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

PHILADELPHIA,  October  16,  1889. 

Eddie  Wilkins,  the  Canadian  nurse  or  attendant 
of  Walt  Whitman,  came  over  from  Camden  to  see 
me  to-day  with  a  message  from  Mr.  Whitman. 
He  brought  to  me  a  letter  and  a  package  of  por 
traits  (of  Mr.  W.)  along  with  a  copy  of  the  new 
edition  of  the  "  Leaves  of  Grass,"  and  manuscripts. 

The  letter  was  an  acknowledgment  of  $50  from 
Henry  Irving  and  $25  from  Bram  Stoker  of  Lon 
don,  merely  an  unsolicited  and  friendly  present 
of  money  from  two  admirers. 

His  acknowledgment  to  Mr.  Irving  was  as 
follows  : 

"Re'cd.  of  Henry  Irving  $50.  Accept  thanks, 
and  acknowledgment.  WALT  WHITMAN." 

And  a  duplicate  of  this  to  Bram  Stoker,  for  $25. 

Eddie  informed  me  that  he  was  to  leave  Mr. 
Whitman  on  Monday  next  and  return  to  Canada 
to  study  to  be  a  surgeon.  He  said  : 

"  As  you  know,  I  have  been  with  Mr.  Whitman 
more  than  a  year,  and  am  really  sorry  to  leave 
him.  He  is  the  most  singular  man  I  ever  knew. 
When  I  was  first  employed,  he  would  chat  ten 
minutes  or  so  at  a  time  with  me.  Now  we  pass 
about  twenty  words  a  day.  He  calls  me  by 
knocking  on  the  floor  with  his  cane,  I  usually 
being  in  the  room  below.  He  is  a  singularly 
modest  man.  He  permits  no  one  to  enter  the 
retiring  room  with  him,  and  never  permits 
any  person  to  see  him  unrobed.  I  rub  his  arm 
and  leg  every  day,  which  gives  him  relief,  and 


ME.    WHITMAN  IN  CAMDEN.  99 

he  enjoys  it.  He  seldom  uses  profane  Ian* 
guage,  but  one  day  upon  my  mentioning  the 
name  of  a  woman  whom  I  had  met,  he  became 
furious,  denounced  this  woman  as  a  viper,  a 
sneak,  and  a  '  hell  cat.'  It  was  the  only  time  I 
ever  saw  him  angry.  I  do  not  think  that  he  has 
a  very  exalted  opinion  of  women  in  general. 
He  eats  about  what  any  other  person  does,  but  is 
very  fond  of  a  bit  of  sherry  and  a  banana.  He 
uses  no  whisky  or  tobacco,  only  when  ill  he  some 
times  takes  a  little  whisky.  He  rises  about  eight, 
eats  his  breakfast,  and  reads  the  daily  papers. 
He  seldom  reads  a  book,  but  chiefly  the  mag 
azines  and  current  monthlies.  Every  day  I  find 
him  reading  his  Bible.  He  lays  in  bed  much 
of  the  time,  his  hands  clasped  over  his  breast, 
with  his  eyes  closed.  He  usually  receives  visitors 
while  lying  down.  He  tires  of  them  soon,  and 
after  they  retire  complains  that  they  ask  too 
many  foolish  questions,  and  '  taffy  him  too  much 
about  his  works.'  This  is  especially  true  of  one, 
a  Methodist  preacher  who  is  a  very  frequent  caller 
and  gives  Mr.  Whitman  much  'sweetness.'  I 
find  that  while  he  likes  and  dislikes  very  strongly, 
he  seldom  expresses  an  opinion  against  anyone. 
He  is  a  man  of  great  tact,  and  in  my  opinion,  one 
of  great  ability.  I  see  no  vanity  in  him,  and  do 
not  think  he  has  an  undue  quantity.  His  shrewd 
ness  is  great.  He  keeps  his  business  to  himself, 
and  talks  but  little  even  to  his  intimates.  I  think 
he  talks  freer  to  you  than  anyone  who  comes  to 
see  him.  I  want  to  give  you  an  idea  of  his 


100  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

shrewdness.  One  day  in  May  last,  a  young  and 
spruce  fellow  called  at  the  house  and  introduced 
himself  as  Lieutenant  Minton  of  the  United  States 
Navy.  Mr.  Whitman  was  cordial,  and  Mr.  Min 
ton  frank.  He  said  that  he  had  just  returned 
from  China  ;  had  been  stationed  there  several 
years.  Mr.  Whitman's  admirers  in  the  American 
Navy  out  there  had  read  and  reread  his  works. 
They  had  raised  a  little  fund  of  $230,  and  asked 
him  to  bring-  it  to  Mr.  Whitman  at  Camden. 
Mr.  W.  gave  one  of  his  '  Ah's,'  and  Mr.  Minton 
continued,  *  I  placed  it  in  the  Trust  Company  on 
Federal  Street  in  this  town  for  you  this  p.  M.,  in 
tending  to  mail  you  the  check  provided  I  did  not 
have  the  pleasure  of  an  interview,  so  here  is  the 
check,  and  by  the  way,  Mr.  Whitman,'  handing 
him  the  check,  '  I  have  been  at  a  small  expense, 
say  five  dollars,  in  attending  to  this  matter  ;  can 
you  let  me  have  it  now,  as  I  must  catch  the  New 
York  train  in  twenty  minutes?'  'Certainly,' 
said  Mr.  Whitman,  *  as  soon  as  I  get  the  check 
cashed.  Here,  Eddie,'  turning  to  me,  'go  to  the 
Trust  Company  and  see  if  this  is  good.  If  so, 
fetch  me  the  money.'  Mr.  Minton  said,  '  I  will  go 
along  with  you,'  and  came  downstairs  with  me.  I 
heard  Mr.  Whitman  chuckling  and  laughing  as 
we  went  out.  Mr.  Minton  excused  himself  when 
near  the  bank,  went  into  a  tavern  to  get  some 
thing  he  had  left,  and  never  came  out  the  front 
door.  I  saw  him  scaling  the  back  fence.  The 
Bank  knew  nothing  of  the  man  Minton  or  the 
When  I  told  Mr.  Whitman  he  smiled  and 


MR.    WHITMAN  IN   CAMDEN.  101 

said,  '  My,  my,  Eddie,  think  of  that  smooth 
tongued  fellow  trying  to  do  a  poor  old  devil  like 
me  out  of  five  dollars  !  Well,  well,  well  !  times 
must  be  very  hard  out  in  the  world  when  the 
sharpers  have  to  chase  such  poor  game  as  I  am. ' 

"  I  never  heard  him  speak  of  religion  or  talk  of 
the  future.  His  common  expression  in  speaking 
of  men  or  women  who  have  moral  faults  is,  *  It's 
the  critter's  way,  and  he  (or  she)  can't  help  it,'  or 
'  The  critter's  bad  and  he  can't  help  it. '  He  receives 
about  two  letters  a  day,  arid  frequently  a  large 
number  of  requests  for  autographs.  I  usually 
confiscate  the  stamps  inclosed,  and  he  don't 
answer. 

<lHe  writes  frequently  to  Dr.  Bucke,  and  to  his 
sister.  His  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Colonel  Whitman, 
comes  to  see  him  every  week.  He  is  very  fond  of 
her.  You  know,  of  course,  that  he  pays  the  board 
[alternate  weeks]  of  an  imbecile  brother  [in  a 
Sanitarium].  This  is  a  pretty  heavy  tax  on  him. 
He  has  money  in  bank  ;  how  much  I  can't  say. 
I  have  carried  his  bankbook  to  and  fro  several 
times,  but  have  never  opened  it.  During  this 
year  he  has  received  several  large  sums,  one  of 
$250  from  the  birthday  dinner  [May  31,  of  this 
year] — which  affair  he  thought  little  of,  saying  to 
me  that  '  it  was  too  much  gush  and  taffy' — and  the 
one  from  you  of  seventy-five  dollars.  During  the 
year  he  drew  out  one  hundred  dollars  only.  Oh, 
he  is  careful  about  money,  and  knows  its  value. 
His  personal  expenses  are  almost  nothing  per 
day.  He  likes  cologne,  and  I  buy  it  for  him  fre- 


Iti2  ;        WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

quently,  to  use  about  his  person.  You  know  he 
is  very  cleanly  in  his  person,  but  untidy  about  his 
room.  He  considers  it  almost  a  sin  to  sweep  it. 
He  makes  a  great  row  when  it  is  done.  He  is 
certainly  a  curious  man.  He  never  calls  me  at 
night,  seldom  during  the  day,  and  I  remain  with 
him  not  more  than  two  minutes  each  time.  He  is 
very  independent  and  wants  to  and  does  help  him 
self.  He  is  stubborn  and  self-willed  as  to  this, 
and  does  as  he  pleases.  You  can  only  get  along 
with  him  by  letting  him  have  his  own  way.  He 
is  in  bad  physical  condition,  much  worse  than 
when  I  came  to  him.  In  fact  another  stroke  of 
paralysis  will  end  him,  as  he  has  already  had  two. 
I  hardly  think  he  will  live  out  the  year.  I  dislike 
to  leave  him,  but  my  worldly  future  depends  on 
other  work  than  nursing." 


A   POSM   IN   MR.    WHITMAN'S  AUTOGRAPH.      SHOWING   CORRECTIONS 
AND   INSERTIONS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WALT  WHITMAN  AS   A   LECTURER. 

Mr.  Whitman  as  a  Lecturer  from  1878  to  1886— Not  a  Success  as  an 
Orator— His  Lecture  on  Abraham  Lincoln  at  Philadelphia, 
April,  1886 — His  Appearance  and  Reception — Large  Pecuniary 
Result— His  Acknowledgment  of  the  Efforts  of  Friends  to  Make 
it  a  Success— Robert  G.  Ingersoll's  Lecture  for  Mr.  Whitman's 
Benefit  at  Philadelphia,  October,1890— The  Receipts  Therefrom. 

MR.  WHITMAN  lectured  once  or 
twice  each  year,  from  about  1878  to 
1886,  sometimes  in  New  York,  Phila 
delphia,  or  Gamden — Abraham  Lincoln 
was  his  favorite  theme.  These  lectures 
netted  him  in  some  instances  large  sums 
of  money.  He  was  not  a  success  as  a 
lecturer,  in  the  matter  of  oratory. 

One  of  the  events  of  Mr.  Whitman's 
later  life  was  the  lecture  he  delivered  on 
Abraham  Lincoln  in  Philadelphia,  April 
15,  1886.  I  called  to  see  him  as  to  its 
arrangement,  arid  made  a  minute  of  my 
visit  and  of  the  lecture. 


104  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

CAMDEN,  N.  J.,  March  2,  1886. 

This  evening  I  called  on  Walt  Whitman  to  pro 
pose  that  he  lecture  on  Abraham  Lincoln,  about 
the  14th  of  April,  at  the  Chestnut  Street  Opera 
House,  Philadelphia.  He  delivered  the  lecture  at 
Morton  Hall,  Camden,  last  night.  He  agreed,  and 
I  am  to  try  to  arrange  it.  His  stove  pipe,  as  usual, 
slipped  out  of  the  fire  board,  and  it  was  amusing 
to  see  us  two  put  it  back  again. 

He  spoke  of  Oscar  Wilde's  visit  to  him  some  four 
years  ago.  I  mentioned  that  Dr.  Huston  of 
Philadelphia,  on  Saturday  evening  last,  at  an 
assembly  at  Mrs.  Heavens'  in  Chestnut  Street,  told 
of  a  visit  he  had  made  to  the  Wilde  family  in  Dub 
lin,  twenty  or  twenty-five  years  ago,  and  of  the 
odd  things  they  did.  After  the  main  dinner  was 
eaten  and  the  dishes  removed,  a  quantity  of  crumbs 
of  bread  were  left  on  the  cloth.  It  is  usual  to  have 
a  servant  remove  these,  but  in  the  Wilde  house, 
at  a  signal  from  Dr.  Wilde,  two  huge  storks 
entered,  ate  up  the  crumbs,  and  solemnly  marched 
out. 


The  lecture  spoken  of  above,  on  Mr. 
Lincoln,  came  off  April  15,  1886,  at  4 
p.  M.,  at  the  Chestnut  Street  Opera  House, 
Philadelphia.  Mr.  John  F.  Zimmerman, 
of  Zimmerman  and  Samuel  F.  Nixon, 
managers,  and  Mr.  Dion  Boucicault  gave 
the  house.  Mr.  Simon  Hassler  furnished 


WALT  WHITMAN  AS  A   LECTURER.     105 

and  led  the  orchestra.  Mr.  Whitman 
came  to  the  rear  door  of  the  theater  in 
his  buggy,  with  Bill  Duckett,  about  3.30 
p.  M.  He  limped  in  behind  the  stage, 
and  was  seated.  Mr.  James  P.  Deuel,  the 
stage  manager  of  the  house,  was  arranging 
the  stage  with  his  men,  who  all  looked 
curiously  at  Mr.  Whitman.  Meanwhile 
I  asked  him  what  he  would  take  for  the 
receipts  of  the  lecture.  He  said,  "  Fifty 
dollars."  "Nonsense!"  I  replied. 
"  Will  you  take  three  hundred  dollars  ? " 
"Yes,  sir,"  he  answered  sharply. 
"Will  you  take  four  hundred  dollars?" 
4 '  What !  "  "  Will  you  take  live  hundred 
dollars?"  "Hold  on,"  he  called  out; 
"don't guy  me!"  I  closed  by  saying: 
"I  will  give  you  a  .check  for  five  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars  for  your  receipts." 
He  looked  sharply  at  me  and  in  a  mo 
ment  said,  "Five  hundred  and  fifty  dol 
lars?  Well,  what  a  good  effort  I  must 
make  !  "  He  was  more  than  surprised. 

Rev.  Dr.  Win.  H.  Furness,  the  sweetest 
and  loveliest  of  men,  almost  eighty-five, 
came  behind  the  scenes  and  began  a  chat 
with  Mr.  Whitman  about  old  times,  and 


106  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

pro-  and  anti-slavery  days.  Mr.  Whit 
man  said,  "  Well,  I  always  looked  upon 
the  radical  abolitionist  as  a  sort  of  a  rev 
olutionist."  Before  Mr.  Furness  could 
reply,  Mr.  Deuel,  the  stage  manager,  at 
4  P.  M.  gave  the  call  for  the  curtain,  and 
Mr.  Whitman  was  raised  up,  and  I  es 
corted  him  to  the  right  wing  for  entrance. 
He  was  in  his  usual  gray  dress,  with  open 
collar,  and  cane. 

The  house  was  well  filled.  Mr.  Whit 
man  walked  out  unattended  and  sat  down 
in  an  armchair  by  a  table,  on  which  were 
a  lamp  and  a  bouquet  of  flowers.  About 
him  were  many  palms  and  rare  plants. 
It  was  a  pretty  picture.  He  read  his 
lecture  from  notes,  clearly  and  distinctly. 
He  was  applauded  vigorously  when  he 
appeared  and  when  he  retired.  He 
occupied  fifty  minutes.  After  the  lecture 
quite  an  informal  reception  was  given 
him  behind  the  scenes.  About  half-past 
five  he  drove  away,  as  pleased  as  a  boy. 

About  three  o'clock  and  prior  to  the 
lecture,  Mr.  Joseph  Jermon,  the  treasurer 
of  the  theater,  brought  me  a  large  and 
handsome  fan  of  wood,  ivory,  and  os- 


WALT  WHITMAN  AS  A  LECTURER.      107 

trich  feathers.  It  had  on  it  in  ink  auto 
graphs  of  Carlyle,  Browning,  Tennyson, 
Emerson,  Lowell,  Hans  C.  Andersen, 
Dickens,  Longfellow,  and  other  immor 
tals.  How  I  did  hunger  for  that  fan  ! 
It  was  the  property  of  Mrs.  Bloomfield 
H.  Moore  of  Philadelphia.  She  wished 
Mr.  Whitman's  autograph.  I  took  it  to 
him  and  he  signed  it.  I  reluctantly  handed 
it  back  to  Mr.  Jerrnon  for  its  accomplished 
and  charitable  owner. 

Mr.  Whitman  realized  from  this  lec 
ture  $692. 

Mr.  T.  Willliams  sent  Mr.  Whitman,  .  $304.00 

Sent  by  T.  D.,      .  ...      375.00 

Afterward  sent  to  Mr.  Whitman,    .     .      13.00 

In  all, 692.00 

Of  course  the  subscriptions  were  large. 

The  door  receipts  were, $  78.25 

Mr.  George  W.  Childs  gave,     .     .     .  100.00 

Mr.  Dion  Boucicault, 50.00 

Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell,       100.00 

George  H.  Boker,       50.00 

Mrs.  Bloomfield  H.  Moore,    ....  50.00 

Mr.  H.  H.  Furness,        50.00 

J.  B.  Lippincott&Co., 25.00 


108          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

David  McKay, $10.00 

C.  C.  Bryant, 10.00 

E.  S.  Stuart, 10.00 

W.  W.  Justice, 10.00 

E.  T.  Steel, 5.00 

Frank  Thomson, 10.00 

P.  A.  B.  Widener, 10.00 

William  M.  Singerly, 10.00 

W.  L.  Elkins, 10.00 

J.  M.  Scovel, 5.00 

Ascheron— a  Society, 45.00 


The  remainder  of  the  total  sum  was 
from  ticket  sales  by  persons  or  for  admis 
sion  at  the  door.  Mr.  Whitman  was 
greatly  pleased.  A  few  days  before  h  e  had 
received  six  hundred  dollars  from  Eng 
land.  I  think  that  this  was  more  money 
than  he  had  ever  received  at  one  time  in 
his  life  before.  On  the  4th  of  May  he 
sent  me  this  postal  card  : 


328  MICKLE  STREET, 
CAMDEN,  N.  J.,  May  4,  1886. 
I  have  been  going  for  two  weeks  to  write  special 
letters  of  thanks  to  you  and  T.  W.  [Talcott  Wil 
liams  of  the  Philadelphia  Press]  for  your  kindness 


WALT  WHITMAN  AS  A  LECTURER.     109 

and  labor  in  my  lecture  and  raising  by  it  $679 
for  me.  I  appreciate  it  all,  and  indeed  thank 
you. 

It  is  the  biggest  stroke  of  pure  kindness  and 
concrete  help  I  have  ever  received.  But  all 
formal  letters  must  just  fizzle  down  to  this  card, 
whose  duplicate  I  send  to  T.  W. 

(Signed)  WALT  WHITMAN. 

Colonel  Robert  G.  Ingersoll  lectured 
at  Philadelphia  for  Mr.  Whitman's  bene 
fit  in  Horticultural  Hall,  October  21,  1890, 
and  on  Mr.  Whitman's  poetry.  The 
title  of  the  lecture  was  ''Liberty  in  Lit 
erature."  This  lecture  grew  out  of  a  sug 
gestion  made  by,  and  credit  is  due  for 
the  same  to,  Mr.  J.  H.  Johnston  of  New 
York — an  old  and  valued  friend  of  Mr. 
Whitman's.  Mr.  Johnston  came  to  Cam- 
den  and  arranged  for  the  lecture.  It 
netted  Mr.  Whitman  some  eight  hun 
dred  and  seventy  dollars.  There  was 
some  friction  before  the  lecture  about 
the  use  of  a  hall  by  Colonel  Ingersoll. 
Some  hide-bound  creed  zealots  raised  a 
bit  of  smoke  about  Colonel  Ingersoll  be 
ing  permitted  to  use  the  hall.  They  did 
not  have  charity  enough  to  see  the  worthy 


110          WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

object  of  the  lecture,  above  the  personal 
views  held  by  the  lecturer. 

The  hall  was  crowded  ;  Mr.  Whitman 
was  present  and  received  an  ovation. 
He  was  grateful  to  Colonel  Ingersoll  and 
Mr.  Johnston  for  this  help. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS,  HOPES, 
EXPECTED  LITERARY  RESULTS,  AND 
RELIGIOUS  VIEWS. 

Mr.  Whitman's  Literary  Aims— Lack  of  Popularity  of  His  Work— 
His  Literary  Hopes— Possessed  a  Happy  Nature— Moral  Man, 
with  Mankind's  Best  Life  at  Heart— His  Peaceful  Ways  in  Life 
and  Near  Its  End— His  Religious  Views— Not  a  Mysterious 
Man— Above  the  Masses— His  Object  in  His  Work— Persecu 
tion  by  Certain  Literary  Persons— Various  Views  as  to  Him 
and  His  Work— Left  No  Successor—Possible  Only  Once  Per 
haps  in  a  Century— Two  Whitmans— His  Method  of  Writing 
Poetry— The  Something  Back  !— Meaning  of  His  Work— Mr. 
Symonds'  View  of  It — Mr.  Whitman  and  Omar  Khayyam. 

MR.  WHITMAN  never  intimated  to 
me,  in  any  way,  that  he  ever 
thought  whether  he  would  have  a  per 
manent  place  in  literature.  He  had  done 
his  work  ;  if  it  benefited  man,  it  would 
be  remembered.  If  it  proved  useful,  it 
would  be  kept  alive.  If  not — why  care  ? 
His  literary  work  gave  him  bread — a  scant 
supply  at  times,  and  latterly  furnished  a 
crippled  and  worn  man  with  employment 
in 


112          WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

—but,  above  all,  it  furnished  him  an  outlet 
for  opinions  and  views  held  which  might 
be  of  service  to  some  in  the  battle  of  life. 
He  was  a  brave  man,  and  his  prose  and 
poetical  works  all  breathe  the  spirit  of 
hope,  and  are  a  plea  for  labor,  with  head 
or  hands.  In  his  cosmogony  there  is  no 
place  for  the  idler  in  nature.  The  useful, 
along  with  the  ornamental  in  life,  was 
his  aim  and  belief.  Crippled  and  nearly 
helpless,  he  worked  to  the  year  of  his 
death.  He  did  not  believe  in  the  doctrine 
of  chance ;  but  did  in  results,  from 
thought  and  labor.  He  was  grateful  and 
filled  with  reverence;  he  was  attentive 
to  the  lowly  and  loved  the  unfortunate. 

Mr.  Whitman  always  insisted  to  me 
that  he  was,  by  his  work,  making  a 
plea  for  the  people  of  all  lands  and 
of  all  races.  As  he  called  it,  "  Govern 
ment  and  legislation  would  eventually 
be  based  upon  an  understanding  of  their 
solidarity."  I  suppose  he  meant  the 
common  good  of  man  was  and  should  be 
the  effort  of  government ;  and  what  was 
good  for  one  people  in  law,  government, 
or  economics,  was  good  for  another  ;  and 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     113 

that  his  work,  "  Leaves  of  Grass,"  and 
all,  was  an  attempt  to  make  such  an  ex 
planation  of  life,  daily  need,  economics, 
necessities,  and  rules  of  morality,  as 
should  be  accepted  by  all — in  fact  a 
rallying  point  from  which  to  encourage 
men  into  action,  upon  the  belief  held 
that  station  and  progress  were  the  com 
mon  heritage  of  the  earnest,  honest 
worker  of  all  ranks.  Of  course  I  had, 
and  have,  my  own  views  of  all  of  this, 
but  I  never  argued  them  with  him. 
All  originators  or  advocates  of  theories 
that  I  have  met  were  and  are,  as  a  rule, 
dreadfully  in  earnest.  Mr.  Whitman  was 
entirely  so. 

One  point  he  seemed  never  to  consider, 
daring  the  statement  of  his  aims,  hopes, 
and  expectations — that,  to  the  ordinary 
people  of  the  English-speaking  race,  his 
works  are  about  as  intelligible  as  the 
Greek  Testament ;  and  that  it  will  be 
some  generations,  if  at  all,  before  a  people 
will  be  produced  who  will  read  Whitman 
as  they  now  do  and  will,  for  centuries, 
read  the  graceful  and  tuneful  poets, 
Shakspeare,  or  the  Bible.  If  Mr.  Whit-. 


114          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

man  has  any  popularity  among  the  masses 
as  a  poet  or  writer,  his  book  sales  fail  to 
show  it.  A  popular  edition  of  his  works 
would  be  a  failure  as  to  circulation,  and 
but  few  of  the  class  intended  to  be 
reached  would  buy  or  read  his  works. 
You  never  hear  him  quoted  in  general  con 
versation  by  verse  or  sentence.  Mr.  Whit 
man  was  not  in  any  sense  and  is  not  the 
poet  of  the.  people.  Certain  of  our  peo 
ple,  and  those  who  loved  the  Union,  ad 
mired  and  respected  him  for  his  devoted 
care  in  nursing  Union  soldiers,  and  con 
stantly  recalled  this.  Thus  his  name  was 
frequently  before  the  country  ;  even  Con 
gress  had  an  eye  to  this.  If  his  literary 
work  is  to  live  otherwise  than  as  a  book 
for  thinkers  and  expounders,  or  as  a 
curiosity,  the  present  public  opinion  of 
him  must  essentially  change.  He  always 
insisted  to  me  that  his  poetic  efforts 
came  largely  unsought,  and  that,  just  as 
they  came,  he  put  them  down ;  that, 
being  a  student  of  man,  of  history,  and 
of  the  universe,  loving  man  and  nature, 
he  had  views — some  of  them  crude,  of 
course,  which  in  part  evolved  themselves, 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     115 

and  which  he  believed  good  for  man 
kind  ;  and  such  as  they  were,  he  gave 
them  to  the  world. 

His  precepts  are  to  affect  the  masses 
by  being  amplified  and  expounded  to 
them  by  students,  writers,  and  orators, 
and  this  will  be  the  chief  future  value 
of  his  works  in  their  relation  to  man 
kind. 

The  purely  scholarly  man  may  or  may 
not  look  upon  his  works  as  curiosities. 
The  thoughtful  man  will  find  in  them 
much  to  instruct  him,  but  the  masses  do 
not  read  him.  Mr.  Whitman  said  of 
this  last  fact :  "Time  makes  strong  men 
weak,  and  sometimes  those  whom  we  con 
sider  weak,  strong." 

I  know,  in  his  last  years,  that  he  was 
more  interested  in  getting  out  of  the 
world  respectably  and  without  noise  or 
undue  notoriety,  than  he  was  in  the 
matter  of  earthly  fame.  He  had  a  long 
and  lingering  illness,  with  frightful  pain, 
but  it  was  borne  like  a  stoic,  and  Death's 
battle  was  well  won.  Still,  with  all  of 
his  misfortunes  and  physical  disabilities, 
Mr.  Whitman  to  the  last  extracted  much 


116          WALT  WHITMAN,    TEE  MAN. 

sunshine  from  life,  and  shed  its  rays 
about  those  with  whom  he  came  in  con 
tact.  His  was  essentially  a  happy  nature. 
He  never  intruded  his  miseries  or  woes 
even  on  his  intimates. 

Mr.  Whitman  always  seemed  to  me  to 
be  at  peace  with  the  world,  and  the  spirit 
of  this  peacefulness  he  tried  to  put  in  his 
work.  Now  and  then,  as  I. have  written, 
he  spoke  angrily  as  to  certain  persons 
named ;  but,  as  a  rule,  he  was  just  the 
reverse  of  critical  as  to  other  people. 
I  never  heard  him  pass  an  adverse  per 
sonal  criticism  on  a  living  writer.  I 
mean  by  word  of  mouth.  I  never  heard 
a  lascivious  expression  from  him,  and  but 
few  oaths.  I  never  heard  him  mention 
women  in  a  bad  sense,  and  I  never  heard 
him  utter  a  word  of  scandal.  If  outward 
expressions  and  personal  actions  indicate 
a  man's  views  of  morality,  and  his  own 
morality  as  well,  then  was  Walt  Whit 
man,  from  1876  to  1892,  a  pure  man. 
His  life,  from  1876  to  his  death,  to  my 
personal  knowledge,  was  as  pure  as  a 
man's  life  could  be,  situated  as  he  was. 
At  times,  in  the  period  named,  he  was 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     117 

hungry,  and  cold,  and  neglected,  but  his 
dignity  and  manhood  were  preserved. 

As  outdoor  life  and  its  comforts  passed 
from  him,  and  he  was  restricted  to  in 
doors,  I  used  to  watch  for  signs  of  emo 
tion  or  regrets.  I  never  observed  one. 
His  actions  seemed  to  say,  "Well,  that's 
done;  what  next?"  His  practice  was 
to  submit  cheerfully  to  the  inevitable. 
I  believe  that  he  thought  deeply  on  it, 
as  outdoor  life  was  denied  him,  and  it 
grieved  him  inwardly,  but  it  was,  to  him, 
all  in  life  ;  and  his  outward  cheerfulness 
seemed  to  increase  rather  than  diminish. 
Adversity  made  him  more  lovable  and 
aroused  his  good  angels  to  new  efforts. 
He  disliked  being  a  trouble  to  anyone. 

His  religious  views  have  been  vari 
ously  stated.  I  never  could  discover  a 
trace,  even,  of  creed  superstition  in  him. 
His  imagination  was  active  and  aided 
by  his  study  of  the  Greeks  and  Italians, 
but  nowhere,  or  in  any  conversations, 
did  I  find  a  trace  of  superstition  in 
the  matter  of  a  physical  hereafter — a 
physical  hell  or  a  belief  in  the  super 
natural.  Christ  was  no  mystery  to  him. 


118          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

His  divinity  he  never  questioned  in  the 
matter    of    his  life   works ;    considering 
divinity  as  all  that's  best  for  mankind. 
The  Bible    he    read    for   its    language, 
grammar,  sublime  thoughts,  moral  pre 
cepts,  and  beautiful  imagery.     Its  incon 
gruities,  in  the  light  of  present  science 
and  discovery,  he  did  not  mention,  but 
passed  over  as  things  to  be  omitted  in 
speech.     The  present  good  and  standard 
morality  of  the  Bible  were  enough  for 
him,  without  considering  its  mere  fables 
or  graphic  illustrations,  which  never  could 
have  been  possibilities.     He  always  saw 
the  good  in  the  Bible,  and  was  for  its 
actualities.     It  amused  him  to   hear  or 
read    learned    or    other   men  trying    to 
prove  the  impossibility  of  the  Bible  being 
true,  while  neglecting  its  splendid  con 
ceded  precepts  and  teachings.     He  was 
never  a  scoffer  at  the  efforts  of  others 
or  at  their  views.     His  mental  largeness 
covered  the   errors  of   ignorance,   culti 
vated  or  otherwise,   with   a   mantle    of 
kindly  inattention. 

I  tried  several  times  to  get  Mr.  Whit 
man  to  formulate  for  me  his  religious 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     119 

creed.  Creeds  did  not  trouble  or  interest 
him  personally,  in  the  least.  He  had 
none,  in  the  sense  of  the  usual  definition, 
He  believed  in  a  supreme  power,  being, 
or  control.  He  did  not  care  for  creeds, 
because  he  could  find  no  particular  divine 
or  supreme  authority  for  them.  All, 
in  his  view,  were  God's  children.  If 
so,  then  why  should  creed  wars  be 
tween  them  be  essential  ?  Why  assert 
that  souls  could  alone  be  saved  because 
preferring  a  certain  creed  ?  As  to  doubt 
ful  things  he  simply  did  not  know,  and 
he  said  that  he  had  never  met  anyone 
who  did  know. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  always  for  liberty 
and  never  for  license.  His  charity  was 
as  large  as  his  nature,  and  he  had  an 
excuse  for  all  of  the  fallen.  Mr.  Whit 
man  impressed  me,  by  his  conversation 
on  life,  immortality,  and  such  topics,  as 
one  who,  in  common  with  others  who  had 
investigated  and  reflected  on  the  subject, 
as  being  reluctant  to  even  attempt  to 
formulate  a  description  of  Deity  or  to 
describe  in  detail  its  or  his  attributes. 
Mr.  Whitman's  religion  was  duty.  His 


120          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

religion,  in  the  eyes  of  some,  was 
merely  non-belief  in  creeds  on  doubtful 
questions.  The  truth  was  that  he  con 
sidered  life  too  short  to  quibble  over  im 
material  .  questions  of  creed.  I  never 
heard  him  say  that  he  believed  in  a  per 
sonal  immortality,  but  he  did  hint  at  a 
future.  In  the  years  I  knew  him  I  never 
heard  him  say  a  thing,  or  knew  him  to 
do  an  act  or  deed  which  might  not  have 
been  done  by  the  most  rigorous  moralist 
or  the  highest  possible  type  of  those  pro 
fessing  Christianity.  He  was  in  faith,  if 
anything,  a  Unitarian.  One  day  in  April, 
1890,  he  gave  me  his  Bible  and  on  its 
title  page  wrote  : 


THOMAS  DONALDSON, 
With  everlasting  life  wishes. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 


There  was  nothing  mysterious  about 
Mr.  Whitman,  and  he  never  attempted  to 
make  you  think  so.  He  was  just  what 
he  was  ;  nothing  more,  nothing  less.  He 
expected  the  world  to  weigh  him  and  his 
work  for  what  they  are,  and  not  for  what 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     121 

some  curiosity  hunters  in  literature  think 
they  are.  I  do  not  believe  he  ever  cared 
a  rap  for  what  anyone  thought  he  was. 
He  was  very  sensitive  as  to  the  opinion 
of  elevated  and  good  men  and  women, 
but  cared  nothing  for  that  of  the  masses, 
whose  life  was  his  constant  thought ;  not 
that  he  was  above  them  in  station  or  abil 
ity,  but  from  the  knowledge  that  the  mass, 
as  a  rule,  resist  men  who  knuckle  to  or 
attempt  to  patronize  them.  His  pedestal 
was  set  not  on  their  exact  level,  but  put 
an  inch  or  so  above  them.  He  well  knew 
that  if  he  cringed  to  the  masses,  he  would 
be  looked  upon  by  them  as  merely  one  of 
their  number.  This  is  why  he  is  not  and 
never  can  be,  in  our  day,  a  popular  poet. 
The  crowd  at  Mr.  Whitman's  funeral 
bore  no  testimony  to  his  popularity  as 
an  author.  It  was  an  ideal  day.  The 
cemetery  had  been  but  recently  opened. 
Important  ceremonies  were  expected. 
Nature  was  smiling  and  beautiful.  The 
newspapers  had  been  full  of  the  expected 
event  for  some  days,  and  Robert  G.  In- 
gersoll  was  to  deliver  an  address.  Such 
was  and  is  the  popularity  of  Colonel 


122          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

Ingersoll  that  were  he  advertised  to 
make  an  address  in  a  ten-acre  lot,  he 
would  fill  it.  And,  in  addition,  it  was 
all  free,  which  is  always  a  great  induce 
ment  to  the  public. 

His  work  and  his  object  in  giving  it  to 
the  world  are  frequently  misunderstood. 

To  some  it  seemed  the  height  of  the 
ridiculous  to  see  a  full-grown  man,  in  an 
out-of-the-way  place,  writing,  from  time 
to  time,  messages  to  the  world,  or  formu 
lating  precepts,  or  "bearing  testimony 
in  writing,"  as  some  called  it,  to  a  world 
that  never  read  them.  Newspapers  were 
reluctant  to  publish  them,  and  Mr. 
Whitman's  medium  of  circulating  his 
views  to  the  world  was  through  very 
limited  editions,  which  he  himself  usu 
ally  paid  for,  or  which  failed  to  circulate 
at  all.  There  was  a  semi-persecution  of 
Mr.  Whitman  by  certain  educated  per 
sons,  which  aroused  an  antagonism  in 
another  class  of  educated  people,  and 
thus  created  a  sympathy  for  Mr.  Whit 
man  against  those  who  decried  him.  His 
defenders  became  his  friends. 

If  Mr.  Whitman  thought,  as  has  been 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     123 

suggested,  that  he  was  producing  a  book 
of  essentials  as  to  life  and  its  conduct, 
to  supplant  all  others  (save,  of  course, 
the  Bible),  he  missed  it.  If  his  scheme 
was  to  assimilate  all  book  expression, 
every  written  method  of  conveying 
ideas  and  forms  of  ideas,  to  the  sys 
tem  developed  in  his  book,  or  works, 
he  missed  it  again.  If  he  aimed  to 
stand  alone  in  literature,  he  succeeded, 
and  surely  does.  No  man  of  this  cen 
tury,  in  letters,  has  been  so  differ 
ently  judged.  By  many  he  is  looked 
upon  as  the  poet  of  license,  and  as  an 
authority  for  rioting  in  morals.  Many, 
very  many,  cultured,  intelligent  persons, 
do  not  possess,  let  alone  read,  his  works. 
He  is  unread  ;  is  a  mystery  ;  is  read  and 
scoffed  at ;  is  read  and  adopted  ;  is  read 
and  laughed  at ;  is  read,  is  cheered,  and 
is  declared  immortal.  To  one  who  knew 
the  man,  was  about  and  with  him, 
watched  him,  listened  to  his  precepts, 
saw  his  blameless  life,  knew  his  charity, 
all  the  above  seems  a  mystery.  Still  he 
is  now  a  factor,  in  whatever  light  you 
look  at  him.  Will  he  be,  in  the  future  ? 


124          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

Any  man  or  woman  who  would  now 
attempt  to  follow  Mr.  Whitman  in 
literary  work,  and  issue  a  volume  on  his 
literary  basis,  would  be  set  down  at  once 
as  an  educated  idiot !  Mr.  Whitman  left 
no  successor,  left  no  apostle,  or  emitter 
of  Whitmanic  lore.  He  was  a  peculiar 
product,  possible  only  once,  perhaps,  in 
a  century,  and  alone.  A  duplicate  would 
be  unnecessary,  and  an  imitation  of  Mr. 
Whitman  would  be  base  metal,  at  sight. 
What  he  was,  he  was  ;  what  he  is,  he  is. 
His  work  in  any  view  did  mankind,  as 
a  whole,  no  harm,  and  has  aroused  the 
hopes  and  aspirations  and  bettered  the 
condition  of  many  persons,  and  will  con 
tinue  to.  His  personality,  which  was  also 
influential,  was  as  marked  as  his  work, 
and  altogether  the  world  gained  much 
by  his  having  lived. 

As  I  have  noted,  Mr.  Whitman, 
neither  in  his  person,  habits,  nor  sj>eech, 
indicated  the  authorship  of  "  Leaves  of 
Grass."  There  were  two  Whitmans : 
one,  the  lovable  citizen ;  the  other,  a 
character  out  of  the  usual,  when  he 
began  to  grind  his  literary  mill.  He 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     125 

seldom  talked  as  he  wrote.  His  conver 
sation  was  usually  of  the  ordinary,  com 
monplace  kind,  and  such  as  is  gone  over, 
day  by  day,  by  ordinary  people.  I  do 
not  believe,  and  this  is  strengthened  by 
the  fact  that  he  so  intimated  it,  in 
relation  to  a  minor  poem,  that,  when  Mr. 
Whitman  started  a  theme  in  verse,  or 
prose,  that  he  had  the  remotest  idea 
when  he  would  make  port,  or  how  he 
would  land.  He  said  to  me,  "I  just  let 
her  come,  until  the  fountain  is  dry." 
That  is,  when  the  subject  ceased  to  en 
large  itself.  He  made  a  poem  in  sec 
tions,  in  bits,  at  all  and  odd  times  ;  and 
when  the  idea  struck  him  as  being  fully 
drawn  out,  he  fitted  the  links  together, 
rejecting  much  that  he  had  written.  To 
limit  his  space,  by  saying,  "  I  want  a 
three-  or  four- verse  poem,"  meant  to 
limit  his  ideas.  His  breadth  of  mind 
and  grasp  of  entities  could  not  be  lim 
ited  by  the  number  of  verses. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  a  man  of  deep  and 
constant  thought.  He  thus  desired  to  be 
alone.  He  held  mental  dialogues  with 
himself,  and  argued,  pro  and  con,  many 


126          WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

questions,  and  evolved  conclusions  there 
from.  He  read  less  of  books  than  any 
man  of  literary  pursuits  I  ever  knew,  or 
heard  of.  I  think  that  he  always  did  his 
best  in  his  literary  effort,  and  felt  that 
he  did  so ;  not  that  the  construction 
might  not  be  improved  by  working  over, 
but  the  ideas  as  first  stated  were  used 
and  were  satisfactory  to  him.  He  had  an 
inner  motive,  for  back  of  all  the  practical 
in  the  man,  and  in  his  work,  and  back 
of  the  work  itself,  there  is  an  attempt  to 
convey  a  belief  in  a  something,  an  un de 
finable  something;  not  a  "dude,  utterly 
too  too,"  but  an  idea.  Mr.  Whitman 
would  frequently,  in  argument,  shake  his 
head,  "  Yes  ;  but  as  to  Bacon  and  Shaks- 
peare,  admitting  Shakspeare  wrote  the 
plays,  there  is  something  else — something 
back  of  all  this."  (He  mentioned  that 
he  met  and  knew  close  friends  of  Delia 
Bacon,  the  aider  and  abettor  of  the 
Baconian  Shakspeare  theory— a  sort  of 
an  adventuress.)  Exactly,  Mr.  Whitman 
groped  at  times  for  this  very  "something 
back."  His  works  and  his  conversation, 
when  pressed,  showed  it;  but  like  all 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     127 

other  human  characters,  he  never  found  it, 
and  has  never  expressed  it.  Thus  far,  the 
concentrated  brain  power  of  all  the  past 
or  present  time,  as  expressed  in  the  art 
preservative,  has  failed  to  find  or  make 
plain  the  very  thing  Mr.  Whitman  as  well 
failed  in  and  could  not  make  plain.  Mr. 
Whitman  is  dreadfully  differed  about  as 
a  poet.  A  poem,  as  I  understand  it,  is 
a  means  of  conveying  an  idea.  Ideas  are 
more  easily  conveyed,  or  impressed  and 
received,  when  clothed  in  euphonious 
and  pleasant  language.  Mr.  Whitman 
did  not  usually  employ  such  methods. 
It  would  have  been  best  for  his  fame  if 
he  had,  and  his  words  would  have 
reached  more  people.  Language,  with 
him,  was  to  convey  thought ;  not  merely 
to  be  a  jingle  of  soft  and  harmonious 
phrases.  He  did  not  fish  for  sweet  and 
soft  words,  with  rhyming  terminals  to 
his  sentences  ;  because,  with  him,  sub 
stance  and  not  form  was  chiefly  in  view. 
The  mysteries  of  life,  unsolved  in  crea 
tion,  life  and  death,  can  be  talked  about, 
and  this  Mr.  Whitman  has  well  done ; 
but  they  cannot  be  solved  by  the  human 


128  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

mind.  The  mystery  remains,  Whitman 
or  no  Whitman.  It  would  seem  that  his 
idea  is,  and  his  work  means,  "The 
world  is  an  oyster  any  man  of  courage 
can  open,  as  it  is  made  for  all.  It's 
a  free  battle.  The  best  equipped  and 
the  bravest  will  lead.  To-morrow  is  just 
before  you.  So  go  in,  my  lad.  Science, 
art,  knowledge,  are  all  aids  to  the  fighter  ; 
so  utilize  all — brain,  body,  Nature  and 
her  resources.  They  are  yours  ;  they  are 
any  man's  or  woman's  who  will  .use 
them."  So  he  was  and  is  called  the 
poet  of  democracy,  believing  in  self-help, 
self-government,  self-reliance — not  only 
the  democracy  of  the  aggregate,  but  of 
the  individual.  All  are  kings,  emperors, 
rulers,  each  and  every  one !  In  his 
democracy  the  unit  is  one  ;  the  unit  is 
all,  and  as  one  is  so  is  all.  His  aim  is 
to  show  mankind  that  many  things  re 
garded  as  occult  in  life  were  not  so,  and 
to  open,  so  far  as  he  could,  the  book  of 
life  and  nature.  He  aims  to  assist  man 
kind  to  live  a  life  on  a  higher  plane  than 
now,  by  stimulating  ambition,  arousing 
the  sense  of  inquiry  and  encouraging 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     129 

action.  His  chief  hope  is  to  aid  man  to 
rely  upon  himself  and  to  cast  aside  fears 
and  doubt,  and  walk  forth  to  the  battle 
of  life  a  self-reliant  knight,  determined 
to  subdue  nature  and  the  elements  to  his 
own  use  and  that  of  his  fellows  ;  and  to 
be  happy  and  contented.  He  invokes 
the  possibilities  to  the  use  of  man,  and 
incites  human  ambition  to  always  battle , 
for  the  best  in  morals,  habits,  daily  life 
and  actions.  He  is  an  apostle  of  Hope, 
as  well  as  an  apostle  of  content  with 
the  knowable.  In  showing  the  mysteries 
of  nature,  as  things  to  be  uncovered,  he 
wrote  plainly  and,  perhaps,  too  openly, 
of  things  known,  and  common  in  life, 
but  which  the  world  holds  best  concealed 
by  a  mantle  of  reticence  and  non-men 
tion.  This  drew  and  does  draw  wrath 
upon  him.  Expressing  no  opinion  as  to 
his  method,  one  thing  I  am  sure  of — Mr. 
Whitman  possessed  in  a  masterly  degree 
true  poetic  genius. 

I  would  call  his  works  not  poems,  but 
"A  Collection  of  Thoughts."  " Leaves 
of  Grass  "  is  generic  as  a  title,  but  really 
meant  and  means  a  name  broad  enough 


130  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

to  take  in  all  that  he  might  write,  con 
nected  or  disconnected  matter.  "  Blades 
of  Grass,"  in  the  sense  of  variety,  as  a 
title,  might  have  been  a  better  selection. 

The  largest  view  of  the  works  of  Mr. 
Whitman  is  given  by  John  Addington 
Symonds  in  "  Walt  Whitman :  A 
Study,"  1893,  p.  12.  He  thus  sums  them 
up: 

It  is  useless  to  extract  a  coherent  scheme  of 
thought  from  his  voluminous  writings.  He  tells 
us  himself  that  he  is  full  of  contradictions,  that 
his  precepts  will  do  as  much  harm  as  good,  that 
he  desires  to  "  tally  the  broad-cast  doings  of  the 
day  and  the  night."  But  though  he  may  not  be 
reducible  to  system,  we  can  trace  an  order  in  his 
ideas.  First  comes  religion,  or  the  concept  of  the 
universe;  then  personality,  or  the  sense  of  self 
and  sex;  then  love,  diverging  into  the  amative 
and  comradely  emotions ;  then  democracy,  or  the 
theory  of  human  equality  and  brotherhood.  The 
world,  man  as  an  essential  part  of  the  world,  man 
as  of  prime  importance  to  himself  alone,  love  and 
liberty  as  necessary  to  his  happiness ;  these  are  the 
constituents  of  Whitman's  creed. 

Mr.  Whitman's  pride  of  opinion  in  his 
work  never  blinded  his  judgment  to 
proper  criticism.  Had  he  been  asked,  he 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITEEART  AIMS.     131 

would  have  openly  and  unhesitatingly 
criticised  his  own  literary  efforts  and 
blue-penciled  them,  from  an  outside 
view,  as  if  he  were  merely  an  editor. 

Mr.  Whitman  as  a  rule  received  so 
little  honest  praise  that  he  may  have  be 
come  hungry  for  the  bit  he  did  receive, 
and  sometimes  too  gladly  told  of  it  or 
spread  it  about.  He  accepted  all,  as  the 
great  river  takes  in  streams.  He  was  a 
creative  man.  He  did  not  sit  in  judg 
ment  on  his  praisers.  He  took  their 
slush  and  gush  as  well  as  their  honest 
thoughts  as  to  him.  He  was  a  builder, 
not  a  destructionist.  While  personally 
not  vain  or  egotistical,  he  took  delight  in 
the  fact  that  his  work  was  admired  by 
the  thoughtful  men  who  praised  it.  Per 
sonal  zeal  for  his  work  was  a  commenda 
tion  to  him,  only  in  a  measure.  He  liked 
men  because  they  were  men. 

The  personal  and  critical  tributes  Mr. 
Whitman  met  as  to  his  work  would  have 
unhorsed  almost  any  other  man.  He 
accepted  them,  and  pushed  on  in  the  same 
channels.  He  always  forged  ahead  on 
the  old  lines.  His  friends  often  expressed 


132          WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

more  feeling  than  he  did  against  libel, 
slander,  and  calumny.  He  bore  it  meekly 
and  went  right  on.  He  knew  that  his 
purpose  was  honest,  his  motive  was  the 
bettering  of  the  condition  of  mankind ; 
to  kindle  hope  in  the  breast  of  the  strug 
gling,  cheer  the  weary,  and  give  courage 
to  the  fallen.  He  may  have  expressed  it 
all  crudely,  but  the  truth  was  behind  it 
all ;  chunks  of  wisdom  and  blocks  of 
good  intentions  are  embraced  in  his  work. 
The  future  delver  will  find  therein  meat 
and  bread  for  his  thought. 

He  soon  heard  of  articles  as  to  himself 
or  his  work.  One  day  I  called  Mr.  Whit 
man's  attention,  soon  after  it  appeared,  to 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  article  on  him 
in  "  Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books." 
He  promptly  replied  :  "  I  wonder  what  he 
is  up  to.  He  seems  to  be  trying  to  damn 
with  faint  praise — open  up  a  new  line  of 
criticism — or  is  holding  something  back." 
Years  afterward  •  John  Addington  Sy- 
monds,  in  "  Walt  Whitman  :  A  Study," 
1893,  pp.  9  and  10,  gives  the  explanation. 

My  friend  Mr.  R.  L.  Stevenson  once  published 
a  constrained  and  measured  study  of  Walt  Whit- 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     133 

man,  which  struck  some  of  those  who  read  it  as 
frigidly  appreciative.  He  subsequently  told  me 
that  he  had  first  opened  upon  the  keynote  of  a 
glowing  panegyric,  but  felt  the  pompous  absurdity 
of  its  exaggeration.  He  began  again ,  subduing  the 
whole  tone  of  the  composition.  When  the  essay 
was  finished  in  this  second  style,  he  became  con 
scious  that  it  misrepresented  his  own  enthusiasm 
for  the  teacher  who  at  a  critical  moment  of  his 
youthful  life  had  helped  him  to  discover  the  right 
line  of  conduct. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  an  anomaly  among 
men.  His  person,  his  habits,  manners, 
methods,  and  the  result  of  his  labor  were 
unique.  He  was  brave,  non-complaining, 
and  patient.  He  had  done  his  work,  and 
was  ready  to  go.  He  had  years  of  sick 
ness  and  a  long  and  frightful  season  of 
suffering  before  death — -who  can  say  that 
sudden  death  is  not  preferable  in  every 
view  to  such  a  death  as  his  was  f  In  pain, 
helplessness,  and  a  half  dazed  condition, 
at  times  for  months,  he  longed  for  death. 
He  waited  for  it  with  hungriness.  Any 
thing  but  life  under  such  conditions. 
No  visions  of  a  coming  celestial  splendor 
made  his  waking  moments  pleasant.  No 
hope  of  recovery,  or  of  anything  but  an 


134  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

increase  of  pain,  opened  to  him  as  life 
continued.  Each  day  that  he  lived 
brought  assurance  of  increased  misery. 
The  body  was  fading;  the  vital  parts 
seemed  reluctant  to  die  even  in  their 
own  exhaustion.  The  soul,  the  mind,  the 
man  were  there,  and  at  times  in  full  vigor, 
while  the  case  was  wrecked.  Grandly 
and  clearly  his  mentality  stood  above 
the  slowly  straining  and  wasting  body, 
almost  until  the  vision  of  perpetual 
earthly  night  set  in.  Why  may  there  not 
be  a  to-morrow  of  death  for  such  minds  ! 

Sometimes  authors  mark  passages  in 
the  works  of  fellow  authors  and  thus  indi 
cate  their  own  opinions.  Mr.  Whitman 
occasionally  did  this,  and,  generally,  by 
way  of  approval.  One  day,  in  1890,  he 
gave  me  a  copy  of  the  Rubaiyat  of  Omar 
Khayyam,  the  astronomer- poet  of  Persia. 
The  book,  a  plain  cloth-covered  one,  is 
the  edition  of  Bernard  Quaritch,  Picca 
dilly,  London,  1872.  It  was  the  first 
translation  of  Omar  he  had  ever  seen.  In 
it  he  had  inserted  or  pinned  many  news 
paper  slips  relating  to  the  poet,  and 
marked  many  passages  with  a  blue  pencil. 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     135 

Omar's  philosophy  of  the  universe  and 
of  life  finds  much  similarity  in  Mr.  Whit 
man' s — -a  coincidence,  of  course.  I  pre 
sume  in  the  marked  passages  given  Mr. 
Whitman  found  congenial  ideas  and  may 
have  recognized  in  them  parallels  in  his 
own  work. 

In  the  life  of  Omar  and  preceding  the 
Rubaiyat,  he  marked  with  a  very  heavy 
line  this  sentence:  "  Omar's  Epicurean 
Audacity  of  Thought  and  Speech  caused 
him  to  be  regarded  askance  in  his  own 
Time  and  Country.'' 

In  the  life  where  the  reviewer  speaks 
of  the  dislike  of  Omar  and  his  method  of 
poetry  by  the  Sufis,  who  had  a  class  of 
rhyming  poets  as  adherents  and  who 
catered  in  their  poetic  compositions  to  a 
people  "as  quick  of  Doubt  as  of  Belief," 
Mr.  Whitman  marked  in  heavy  under 
line  "A  people  delighting  in  a  cloudy 
composition  of  both  [>".  e.,  Bodily  sense 
and  Intellectual],  in  which  they  would 
float  luxuriously  between  Heaven  and 
Earth,  and  this  World  and  the  Next,  on 
the  wings  of  a  poetical  expression,  that 
might  serve  indifferently  for  either." 


136  WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

Also  Omar  "  having  failed  (however  mis 
takenly)  of  finding  any  Providence  but 
Destiny,  and  any  World  but  This."  Here 
Mr.  Whitman  marks  "  He  set  about  mak 
ing  the  most  of  it,  preferring  rather  to 
soothe  the  Soul  through  the  Senses  into 
Acquiescence  with  Things  as  he  saw  them, 
than  to  perplex  it  with  vain  disquietude 
after  what  they  might  be,"  and  "he 
[Omar]  very  likely  takes  a  humorous  or 
perverse  pleasure  in  exalting  the  gratifi 
cation  of  Sense  above  that  of  the  Intel 
lect." 

This  he  marked  in  heavy  line:  "For 
whatever  Reason,  however,  Omar,  as  be- 
fore  said,  has  never  been  popular  in  his 
own  Country."  Mr.  Whitman  and  Omar 
are  exactly  alike  in  this  particular,  at 
least. 

This  also  was  strongly  marked  :  "The 
Reviewer,  to  whom  I  owe  the  Particulars 
of  Omar's  Life,  concludes  his  Review  by 
comparing  him  with  Lucretius,  both  as  to 
natural  Temper  and  Genius." 

In  the  Rubaiyat,  Mr.  Whitman  has 
marked  and  bracketed  the  following : 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERACY  AIMS.     137 

XII. 

A  Book  of  Verses  underneath  the  Bough, 
A  Jug  of  Wine,  a  loaf  of  bread — and  Thou 
Beside  me  Singing  *  *  *  * 

(Enjoyment.) 

XVII. 

Think,  in  this  batter'd  Caravanserai 
Whose  Portals  are  alternate  Night  and  Day, 
How  Sultan  after  Sultan  with  his  Pomp 
Abode  his  destin'd  Hour,  and  went  his  way. 

(To  the  body.) 

XIX. 

I  sometimes  think  that  never  blows  so  red 
The  Rose  as  where  some  buried  Caesar  bled ; 
That  every  Hyacinth  the  Garden  wears 
Dropt  in  her  Lap  from  some  once  lovely  Head. 

xx. 

And  this  reviving  Herb  whose  tender  green 
Fledges  the  River  Lip  on  which  we  lean — 
Ah,  lean  upon  it  lightly,  for  who  knows 
From  what  once  lovely  Lip  it  springs  unseen ! 

(Beauty.) 

The  xxvii.  verse,  page  8,  of  the  Ru- 
baiyat,  seems  to  especially  fit  Mr.  Whit 
man's  experience.  The  poet,  after  noting 
the  long  and  patient  discussion  of  the 


138  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

two    worlds    (here    and     the    hereafter) 
writes  : 

Myself  when  young  did  eagerly  frequent 
Doctor  and  Saint,  and  heard  great  argument 
About  it  and  about :  but  evermore 
Came  out  by  the  same  door  where  in  I  went. 

XXVIII. 

With  them  the  seed  of  Wisdom  did  I  sow, 
And  with  my  own  hand  wrought  to  make  it  grow ; 
And  this  was  all  the  Harvest  that  I  reap'd — 
"I  came  like  Water,  and  like  Wind  I  go." 

The  ten  following  verses  seem  to  em 
brace  in  a  measure  Mr.  Whitman's  ideas 
of  the  subjects  treated : 

XXXI. 

Up  from  Earth's  center  through  the  Seventh  gate 
I  rose,  and  on  the  Throne  of  Saturn  sate, 
And  many  a  Knot  unraveled  by  the  Road ; 
But  not  the  Master-Knot  of  Human  Fate. 

XXXII. 

There  was  the  Door  to  which  I  found  no  Key ; 
There  was  the  Veil  through  which  I  could  not  see. 
Some  little  talk  awhile  of  Me  and  Thee 
There  was— and  then  no  more  of  Thee  and  Me. 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  LITERARY  AIMS.     139 


XXXIII. 

Earth  could  not  answer;  nor  the  Seas  that  mourn 
In  flowing  Purple,  or  their  Lord  forlorn. 
Nor  rolling  Heaven,  with  all  his  signs  reveal'd 
And  hidden  by  the  sleeve  of  Night  and  Morn. 

XLVIII. 

A  moment's  Halt— a  momentary  taste 
Of  Being  from  the  Well  amid  the  Waste— 
And  Lo  !  the  phantom  Caravan  has  reached 
The  Nothing  it  set  out  from  *  *   *  * 

(The  journey  of  life.) 

LXVI. 

I  sent  my  Soul  through  the  Invisible, 

Some  letter  of  that  after-life  to  spell ; 

And  by  and  by  my  soul  return'd  to  me, 

And  answered:  "I  Myself  am  Heav'n  and  Hell." 

LXVII. 

Heav'n  but  the  Vision  of  fulfilled  Desire, 
And  Hell  the  shadow  of  a  soul  on  fire, 
Cast  on  the  Darkness  into  which  Ourselves, 
So  late  emerg'd  from,  shall  so  soon  expire. 

LXVIII. 

We  are  no  other  than  a  moving  row 
Of  Magic  Shadow — shapes  that  come  and  go 
Round  with  this  Sun — illumin'd  lantern  held 
In  Midnight  by  the  Master  of  the  show. 


140          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

LXIX. 

Impotent  Pieces  of  the  Game  he  Plays 
Upon  the  Chequer-board  of  Nights  and  Days : 
Hither  and  thither  moves,  and  checks,  and  slays, 
And  one  by  one  back  in  the  Closet  lays. 

LXXII. 

And  that  inverted  Bowl  they  call  the  Sky, 
Whereunder  groveling  coop'd  we  live  and  die, 
Lift  not  your  hands  to  It  for  help,  for  It 
As  impotently  rolls  as  you  or  I. 

LXXXI. 

Oh  Thou,  who  Man  of  baser  Earth  didst  make, 
And  ev'n  with  paradise  devise  the  snake: 
For  all  the  Sins  wherewith  the  Face  of  Man 
Is  blackened — Man's  forgiveness  give — and  take! 

Mr.  Whitman's  hearty  and  exquisite 
love  of  nature  and  the  beautiful  crops 
out  through  all  of  his  work.  In  the 
Rubaiyat  he  double-marked  verse 

xcvi. 

Yet  ah,  that  Spring  should  vanish  with  the  Eose ! 
That  Youth's   sweet-scented    Manuscript   should 

close ! 

The  Nightingale  that  in  the  branches  sang, 
Oh,    whence,    and    whither    flown    again!   who 

knows? 


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CHAPTER  VIII. 

WALT  WHITMAN'S  SERVICES  TO  THE  UNION 
CAUSE  IN  THE  WAR  OF  THE  REBELLION, 
1862-1865. 

He  Decides  to  Become  a  War  Nurse— And  to  Embody  His  Observa 
tions  in  a  Book— Starts  to  Kaise  Money  to  Help  Him  in  His 
Work— Letters  in  Reference  to  Same— Applies  for  a  Clerkship 
in  the  Treasury— Quotations  from  tl  Specimen  Days  "—Pension 
Bill  Introduced  in  Congress— The  Report  in  Pull. 

A  FTER,  Mr.  Whitman  went  to  Wash- 
J-JL.  ington  in  1862,  to  see  his  wounded 
brother,  he  wrote  letters  to  newspapers, 
and  most  readable  ones  they  were.  Then 
it  was  that  the  idea  struck  him,  seeing  the 
misery  about,  to  become  a  visitor,  nurse,  or 
attendant  in  the  hospitals  about  that  city 
and  to  do  literary  work  at  the  same  time. 
His  object  in  jotting  down  his  war 
memoranda  in  hospitals,  camps,  and  on 
the  battlefields  was  to  make  a  book, 
after  a  while,  because  he  knew  that  his 
best  efforts,  if  published  contemporane 
ously  with  the  War,  would  be  forgotten 

141 


142          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

and  lost  in  the  mass  of  current  war  litera 
ture,  or  newspaper  accounts.  He  was  more 
than  wise  in  holding  back  the  publication 
of  these  war  data  until  long  after  the  war, 
as  public  interest  in  wars  is  usually 
greatest  from  thirty  to  fifty  years  after 
(  they  have  ceased. 

Inquiry  has  been  made  as  to  the  source 
of  the  income  used  by  Mr.  Whitman  to 
maintain  himself  while  nursing  and  aiding 
the  soldiers  in  the  hospitals  in  and  about 
Washington,  in  1862,  1863,  1864,  and  1865. 
He  made  some  money  writing  for  news 
papers  and  magazines — also  by  selling  a 
few  of  his  books.  His  personal  wants 
were  few.  His  daily  expenses  for  food 
were  also  small.  In  1863,  Mr.  Whitman 
wrote  North  to  a  friend,  suggesting  that 
a  little  money  would  aid  his  work.  He 
wrote  this  to  Mr.  James  Redpath  at  Bos 
ton,  a  tried  and  true  friend.  After  Mr. 
Redpath  had  received  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Whitman  in  February,  1863,  in  further 
ance  of  aiding  him  to  obtain  money  to 
spend  with  the  wounded  or  sick  soldiers  in 
hospitals  about  Washington,  he  wrote  to 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  and  solicited  his 


SERVICES  TO   THE  UNION  CAUSE.     143 

aid  and  that  of  his  friends  for  Mr.  Whit 
man's  plans.  Mr.  Red  path' a  Better  of 
March  10,  1863,  from  Maiden,  Mass., 
explains  itself : 

WALTER  WHITMAN,  ESQ.  ,  WASHINGTON. 

DEAR  EVANGELIST  :  The  inclosed  note  may 
interest  you  [Mr.  Emerson's  of  February  23,  1863], 
and  therefore  I  send  it.  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Emerson 
to  get  him  to  interest  some  of  his  friends  (he  has 
several  rich  ones  who  give  away  large  sums  to 
various  good  causes)  in  your  Christian  Commis 
sion  Agency.  I  trust  that  the  result  will  be  what 
I  hoped. 

Yours  Very  Truly, 

JAMES  REDPATH. 

Remember  me  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  O'C.  [O'Connor] 
and  Mr.  Eldredge. 

Mr.  Emerson's  letter,  referred  to  and 
inclosed  to  Mr.  Whitman,  as  above,  is  as 
follows : 

CONCORD,  23d  February,  1863. 
MY  DEAR  SIR  :  On  my  return,  a  few  days 
since,  from  a  long  Western  journey,  I  found  your 
note  respecting  Mr.  Whitman.  The  bad  feature 
of  the  affair  to  me  is  that  it  requires  prompt  action, 
which  I  cannot  use.  I  go  to-day  to  Montreal  to 
be  gone  a  week,  and  I  have  found  quite  tyrannical 
necessities  at  home  for  my  attention.  Not  to  do 


144  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

nothing  I  have  just  written  a  note  to  Mr.  F.  N. 
Knapp  at  Washington,  who,  I  am  told,  ought  to 
know  what  you  tell  me,  and  may  know  how  to 
employ  Mr.  Whitman's  beneficial  agency  in  some 
official  way  in  the  hospitals. 

As  soon  as  I  return  home,  I  shall  make  some 
trial  whether  I  can  find  any  direct  friends  and 
abettors  for  him  and  his  beneficiaries,  the  soldiers. 
I  hear  gladly  all  that  you  say  of  him. 
Respectfully, 

MR.  REDPATH.  R.  W.  EMERSON. 


Mr.  Emerson,  on  his  return  from 
Canada,  wrote  to  or  saw  several  friends 
as  to  Mr.  Whitman,  and  gave  Mr.  Red- 
path  a  letter  to  show  other  persons,  in 
dorsing  Mr.  Whitman. 

Mr.  Redpath,  May  5,  1863,  wrote  to 
Mr.  Whitman  from  Boston : 

FRIEND  WALTER:  I  did  not  answer  your 
last  letter  because  I  could  not  reply  to  the  ques 
tions  it  put.  I  have  heard  since  that  Emerson 
tried  to  have  something  done  about  you,  but 
failed.  Believing  that  he  would  write  to  you,  I 
didn't. 

Did  you  see  the  paragraph  I  wrote  in  The 
Commonwealth  about  you?  If  not,  I'll  send 
another  copy. 

JAMES  REDPATH. 


SERVICES  TO   THE  UNION  CAUSE.     145 

This  letter  shows  that  Mr.  Emerson  at 
this  time  attempted  to  obtain  money  to 
aid  Mr.  Whitman  in  his  soldier  work. 

Mr.  Whitman,  during  the  summer  of 
1863,  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Redpath 
relating  to  his  sick  and  wounded  work, 
which  Mr.  Redpath  handed  to  Dr.  L.  B. 
Russell,  of  34  Mt.  Vernon  St.,  Boston 
(probably  along  with  the  letter  from  Mr. 
Emerson).  Dr.  Russell,  September  21, 
1863,  wrote  Mr.  Whitman,  care  of  Major 
Hapgood,  Paymaster,  U.  S.  A.,  corner 
15th  and  F  streets,  Washington,  D.  C. 
(Mr.  Whitman,  for  many  months,  re 
ceived  his  Washington  mail  at  Major 
Hapgood' s.) 

MY  DEAR  SIR  :  I  have  been  much  interested 
in  a  letter  from  you  to  Mr.  Redpath,  written  some 
weeks  ago,  which  I  have  lately  seen,  and  am  very 
glad  to  send  you  the  inclosed  check  to  be  used  for 
the  benefit  of  our  noble  "  boys'1  in  the  hospitals, 
in  your  discretion.  I  have  seen  much  of  the  hos 
pitals  myself,  and  I  know  how  much  good  your 
friendly  sympathy  must  do  them,  and  also  that 
even  a  slight  pecuniary  aid  is  sometimes  very 
acceptable  to  them  in  their  forlorn  condition.  Of 
the  inclosed  check  ten  dollars  of  the  amount  is 
contributed  by  my  sister,  Mrs.  G.  W.  Briggs  of 


146          WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

Salem,  to  whom  I  read  your  letter,  and  ten  dollars 
by  my  friend  Edward  Atkinson.  The  balance  I 
give  to  the  "  boys  "  with  great  pleasure,  and  I  will 
very  gladly  give  more  hereafter,  when  I  hear 
from  you  of  the  receipt  of  this  and  find  that  more 
is  needed. 

As  your  letter  is  not  of  a  very  late  date,  I  do  not 
feel  certain  your  address  may  be  the  same  as  at 
the  time  you  wrote.  Please  inform  me  how  this 
is,  as  I  hope  to  be  able  to  send  you  more  from 
other  friends. 

I  hope  you  will  continue  in  your  good  work,  as 
I  am  sure  from  your  letter  and  from  what  my 
friend,  Mr.  Emerson,  says  of  his  own  acquaintance 
with  you,  that  your  visits  must  give  great  comfort 
to  our  suffering  men. 

I  am,  with  much  regard, 
Very  Truly  Yours, 

L.  B.  EUSSELL. 

This  seems  to  have  been  the  first  money 
Mr.  Whitman  received  from  Boston  or 
anywhere  else  in  aid  of  his  work.  It  Avas 
a  fortunate  circumstance  for  him  that 
Mr.  Redpath  handed  Dr.  Russell  the  let- 
.  ter.  Dr.  Russell's  letter  shows  that  Mr. 
Emerson  was  also  aiding.  Dr.  Russell's 
interest  in  the  matter  led  to  a  series  of 
remittances  and  letters  from  September 
14, 1863,  and  during  1864, and  he  interested 


'SERVICES  TO  THE   UNION  CAUSE.      147 

many  other  persons.  Mr.  Whitman  wrote 
Dr.  Russell  on  receipt  of  the  letter  of 
September  14,  1863.  The  letter  following 
shows  the  manner  of  Dr.  Russell's  aid  : 

BOSTON,  October  1,  1863. 
MR.  WHITMAN  : 

It  was  with  exceeding  interest  that  Mr.  Curtis 
and  I  listened  to  the  letter  you  lately  wrote  to  Dr. 
Russell,  which  came  to  us  through  my  sister,  Miss 
Stevenson. 

Its  effect  was  to  make  us  desire  to  aid  you  in  the 
good  work  you  are  engaged  in,  caring  for  the 
sick  and  wounded  soldiers.  We  inclose  thirty 
dollars  and  feel  very  glad  to  have  the  opportunity 
to  minister  to  their  comfort.  Mr.  Curtis  would 
send  it  anonymously,  but  I  think  it  is  pleasant  to 
know  where  one  has  excited  an  interest,  and  in 
asking  you  to  acknowledge  its  receipt,  my  wish  is 
most  to  be  sure  that  it  has  reached  its  destination. 
With  regard,  I  am, 

MARGARET  S.  CURTIS. 

Dr.  Russell,  in  a  letter  of  October  4, 
1863,  to  Mr.  Whitman,  writes  : 

The  hospitals  are  too  cold,  too  regardless  of 
human  feeling;  treating  our  brave  volunteers  too 
much  like  mere  professional  fighters,  not  enough 
like  thinking,  suffering  men.  The  difficulty  of 
getting  discharges  and  furloughs,  even  in  cases 


148          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

clearly  demanding  such  indulgence,  is  very  great 
and  seems  to  increase  rather  than  diminish.  I 
wish  some  more  humane  rules  could  be  estab 
lished.  I  have  tried  to  prevail  upon  those  in 
authority  to  ameliorate  the  system  but  without 
I  effect. 

I  have  received  twenty  dollars  more  to  be  for 
warded  to  you,  ten  dollars  each  from  my  friends 
(Henry  Lewis  of  Boston,  and -Benjamin  H.  Sils- 
bee  of  Salem),  but  I  retain  it  for  a  few  days,  hop 
ing  to  add  more  to  it. 

I  have  sent  your  letter  to  our  friend,  Miss 
Hannah  E.  Stevenson  (whom  you  may  remember 
as  an  ardent  worker  in  one  of  the  Georgetown 
Hospitals),  who  will  send  it  to  some  of  her  friends. 
She  informs  me  that  her  sister,  Mrs.  Charles  P. 
Curtis,  has  written  to  you.  She  was  much 
interested. 

It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  hear  from  you 
again.  L.  B.  EUSSELL. 

Dr.  Russell,  October  4,  1863,  the  date 
of  the  ,above  letter  to  Mr.  Whitman, 
wrote  to  Mr.  Redpath  : 

DEAR  SIR  :  Not  having  seen  you  since  I 
received  the  letter  of  Walt  Whitman  from  you,  I 
write  to  say  that  I  read  it  with  great  interest. 
This  week  I  sent  him  a  check  for  fifty  dollars,  of 
which  my  sister  contributed  ten  and  another 
friend  ten  dollars.  I  have  received  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Whitman,  acknowledging  receipt  of  it.  I 


SERVICES  TO   THE   UNION  CAUSE.     149 

have  confidence  that  he  is  doing-  great  good  and 
shall  send  him  more  hereafter.  I  have  received 
twenty  dollars  more  for  him  and  expect  other 
contributions.  I  sent  the  letter  to  our  friend,  Miss 
Hannah  E.  Stevenson,  and  her  sister,  Mrs.  C.  P. 
Curtis,  has  sent  a  letter  and  contributions  to  Mr. 
Whitman.  Nobody  can  read  the  letter  without 
tears  and  open  hand.  I  thank  you  for  sending  it 
to  me.  L.  B.  RUSSELL. 

Mr.  Redpath  inclosed  this  letter  of 
Dr.  Russell's  to  Mr.  Whitman,  from 
Boston,  on  October  8,  1863  : 

To  Walt  Whitman,  Nurse  and  Philosopher. 

DEAR  SIR  :  I  don't  answer  your  letter  by 
words,  as  you  asked  for  cash  ;  and  to  get  cash, 
being  minus  the  article  myself,  required  time.  I 
put  the  train  in  motion  and  am  glad  to  find  that  it 
has  reached  you.  I  am  preparing  to  keep  it  going. 

I  met  R.  W.  Emerson  after  I  got  your  letter 
and  tackled  him.  He  had  but  little  to  give,  but  he 
gave  that  and  a  letter,  which  I  used  first  among 
the  female  philanthropists  and  then  with  Dr. 
Russell. 

I  sent  you  five  dollars,  from  Phillips  three  dol 
lars,  Emerson  one  dollar.  Did  you  get  it  ?  I  will 
send  you  Emerson's  letter,  if  you  would  like  it.  I 
got  another  from  him  this  A.  M.,  acknowledging 
Dr.  Russell's  letter  (which  I  inclose).  It  contains  a 
fine  compliment  to  the  doctor,  which  I  wish  to 
show  him  in  order  to  stimulate  him. 


150  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

Thanking-  you  for  the  opportunity  you  gave  me 
to  help  the  soldiers,  and  regretting  that  I  can  do 
so  little,  I  remain,  your  friend. 

JAMES  REDPATH. 

On  October  6,  1863,  Miss  Hannah  E. 
Stevenson  wrote  Mr.  Whitman  : 

SIR  :  I  took  from  Dr.  Russell  your  letter  to 
Mr.  Redpath,  to  stir  some  warm  hearts  to  aid  you 
in  your  blessed  work  among  our  sick  and  wounded 
boys.  My  sister,  Mrs.  Charles  P.  Curtis,  has 
already  written  you.  Her  husband's  tears  and 
JJ  her  own,  your  touching  words  coined  into  gold  or 
greenbacks.  I  inclose  you  to-day  thirty  dollars, 
the  result  of  an  application  to  my  friends,  the 
Misses  Wigglesworth. 

Respectfully, 

HANNAH  E.  STEVENSON, 

80  Temple  Street. 

Miss  Mary  Wigglesworth' s  note  to  Miss 
Stevenson  was  inclosed  to  Mr.  Whitman  : 

Thank  you,  dear  Hannah,  for  your  kindness 
in  sending  the  letters.  Mr.  Whitman's  letter  is 
particularly  interesting.  Jane,  Anne,  and  I  send 
a  little  mite  in  aid  of  the  cause. 

Very  Affectionately, 

MARY  WIGGLESWORTH, 
Monday.  1  Park  Street. 


SERVICES  TO   THE   UNION  CAUSE.     151 

The  faithful  Eedpath  wrote  Mr.  Whit 
man,  October  14,  1863 : 

Glad  to  know  you  are  now  in  good  running 
trim.  I  will  do  all  I  can  here  in  one  direction  to 
keep  you  supplied  with  funds. 

JAMES  REDPATH. 

Dr.  Russell  writes  Mr.  Whitman  from 
Boston,  November  8,  1863. 

DEAR  SIR  :  I  received  the  other  day  from  a 
"  Breckinridge  Democrat,"  now  converted,  the 
inclosed  sum  of  twenty  dollars,  after  he  had  read 

your  letter. 

L.  B.  RUSSELL. 

On  April  22,  1864,  Mr.  Whitman  re 
ceived  the  following  letter : 

MR.  WHITMAN: 

I  have  been  very  much  interested  in  your 
hospital  work,  of  which  I  have  heard  through  my 
brother,  Dr.  Russell  of  Boston.  I  inclose  seventy- 
five  dollars,  which  I  have  collected  among  a  few 
friends  in  Salem,  and  which  I  hope  may  be  of  some 
little  service  to  our  brave  boys,  who  surely  should 
not  suffer  while  we  have  the  power  to  help  them. 
You  have  our  warmest  sympathy  in  your  generous 
work,  and  though  sad  to  witness  so  much  suffer 
ing,  it  is  indeed  a  privilege  to  be  able  to  do  some 
thing  to  alleviate  it. 

I  hope  to  be  able  to  send  you  an  addition  to 


152  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

this  contribution,  and  thought  of  waiting  for  a 
larger  sum,  but  I  see  that  you  are  having  numbers 
of  sick  sent  in  to  Washington  daily,  so  you  will 
be  in  immediate  want  of  money. 

Very  Gratefully  Your  Friend, 

MRS.  GEORGE  W.  BRIGGS, 
April  21.  Salem,  Mass. 

From  this  correspondence  it  can  be 
seen  that  the  pecuniary  aid  (outside  of 
his  newspaper  work)  received  by  Mr. 
Whitman  was  largely  from  Boston  and 
other  places  in  Massachusetts,  and  was  ob 
tained  by  James  Redpath,  Ralph  Waldo 
Emerson,  Dr.  L.  B.  Russell,  Mrs.  C.  P. 
Curtis,  Miss  Hannah  E.  Stevenson,  and 
Mrs.  George  W.  Briggs  of  Salem.  The 
attention  of  the  Misses  Wigglesworth  was 
called  to  Mr.  Whitman  by  Miss  Stevenson. 
He  also  received  considerable  money  from 
New  York  City,  Brooklyn,  and  Provi 
dence. 

It  is  not  probable  that  Mr.  Whitman 
received  from  all  contributions  in  this 
hospital  work  in  1863,  1864,  and  1865,  all 
told,  to  exceed  seven  thousand  dollars. 
The  rest  he  supplied  by  his  own  labor. 
He  never  begged  for  any  money  for  the 


SERVICES  TO   THE  UNION  CAUSE.      153 

soldiers.  He  stated  his  case  and  thank 
fully  received  any  contributions.  Dr.  L. 
B.  Russell  was  a  visitor  at  Washington 
in  1863  and  after.  He  met  Mr.  Whitman 
and  saw  and  appreciated  his  work ; 
hence  his  continuous  interest. 

In  the  fall  of  1863,  as  Mr.  Whitman's 
resources  were  very  slim,  he  determined 
to  apply  for  a  clerkship  in  the  Treasury 
Department  at  Washington.  The  hours 
of  work  were  short  and  his  spare  time 
could  be  given  to  the  hospitals,  and  in 
addition,  after  decently  clothing  his  body 
and  providing  it  with  food,  he  could 
spend  the  money  he  would  receive  from 
his  labor  for  the  soldiers.  It  was  not  to 
store  up  money  that  he  wanted  a  clerk 
ship,  but  to  be  able  to  expend  more ; 
especially  as  his  "soldier  work"  was  a 
constant  drain  upon  a  few  patriotic  men 
and  women  in  the  North,  who  might  at 
any  time  cease  their  contributions. 
Someone,  probably  the  always  loyal  and 
constant  James  Redpath,  in  the  fall 
of  1863,  wrote  for  him  to  Ralph  Waldo 
Emerson,  asking  him  to  write  to  Salmon 
P.  Chase,  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  to 


154  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

give  Mr.  Whitman  a  clerkship.  Mr. 
Emerson's  letter  to  Mr.  Chase  must  have 
been  a  personal  one  ;  no  copy  of  it  is  at 
hand.  This  letter  was  written  with  Mr. 
Whitman's  knowledge  and  he  probably 
had  it  in  his  possession,  as  he  mentions 
it  so  frankly  in  the  minute  given  in  fac 
simile.  Mr.  John  T.  Trowbridge,  the 
author,  is  the  Mr.  Trowbridge  referred 
to.  His  call  on  Mr.  Chase  was  made 
December  10,  1863.  Mr.  Whitman's 
minute,  made  in  Washington,  is  dated 
the  day  after.  This  effort  of  Mr.  Emer 
son  and  Mr.  Trowbridge  seems  to  have 
concluded  Mr.  Whitman's  effort  in  the 
direction  of  a  Treasury  clerkship,  while 
Mr.  Chase  was  Secretary  of  the  Treasury. 
Still,  in  1872,  we  find  Mr.  Whitman  a 
clerk  in  the  office  of  the  Solicitor  of  the 
Treasury. 

Of  Mr.  Whitman's  hospital  services  in 
and  around  Washington  from  1862  to 
1865,  this  can  be  said  :  The  testimony  of 
Dr.  Bliss  as  to  these  services  is  of  much 
value.  They  were  earnest,  vigorous, 
and  productive  of  much  good.  He  wrote 
and  answered  letters  for  sick  and 


SERVICES  TO  THE  UNION  CAUSE.      155 

wounded  soldiers  to  or  from  their 
parents  or  friends,  and  in  case  of  death, 
in  many  instances,  notified  their  relations 
or  friends.  He  sat  by  the  sick  and 
wounded,  fanned  them,  talked  or  read 
to  them,  and  aided  the  surgeons  in 
dressing  their  wounds.  He  prepared 
envelopes  addressed  to  himself  and  with 
stamps,  and  gave  them  to  the  soldiers 
whom  he  desired  to  hear  from  after  they 
left  Washington.  Hundreds  of  these 
envelopes  were  used  by  the  men  in  writ 
ing  to  him.  They  were  almost  uniformly 
like  the  facsimile  given. 

Mr.  Whitman  early  saw  that  a  little 
money  would  be  of  more  service  to  many 
of  the  wounded  or  sick  soldiers  than 
delicacies ;  besides,  with  a  bit  of  money, 
they  could  buy  what  they  wanted.  As 
to  this  and  the  money  he  received  for 
that  purpose,  he  is  in  full  evidence  in 
writing. 

GIFTS,    MONEY,    DISCRIMINATION. 

(1864.) 

As  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  wounded 
came  up  from  the  front  without  a  cent  of  money 
in  their  pockets,  I  soon  discovered  that  it  was 


MR.  WHITMAN'S  MINUTE  OF  THE  TROWBRIDGE  INTERVIEW 
WITH  SECRETARY  CHASE  IN  DECEMBER,  1863. 


Page 


SERVICES  TO   THE   UNION  CAUSE.      157 

about  the  best  thing  I  could  do  to  raise  their 
spirits,  and  show  them  that  somebody  cared  for 
them,  and  practically  felt  a  fatherly  or  brotherly 
interest  in  them,  to  give  them  small  sums  in  such 
cases,  using  tact  and  discretion  about  it.  I  am 
regularly  supplied  with  funds  for  this  purpose  by 
good  men  and  women  in  Boston,  Salem,  Provi 
dence,  Brooklyn,  and  New  York.  I  provide  my 
self  with  a  quantity  of  bright  new  ten -cent  and 
five-cent  bills,  and,  when  I  think  it  incumbent,  I 
give  twenty-five  or  thirty  cents,  or  perhaps  fifty 
cents,  and  occasionally  a  still  larger  sum  to  some 
particular  case.  As  I  have  started  on  this  subject, 
I  take  opportunity  to  ventilate  the  financial  ques 
tion.  My  supplies — altogether  voluntary,  mostly 
confidential,  often  seeming  quite  providential — 
were  numerous  and  varied.  For  instance,  there 
were  two  distant  and  wealthy  ladies,  sisters,  who 
sent  regularly,  for  two  years,  quite  heavy  sums, 
enjoining  that  their  names  should  be  kept  secret. 
The  same  delicacy  was  indeed  a  frequent  condition. 
From  several  I  had  carte  blanche.  Many  were 
quite  strangers.  From  these  sources,  during  from 
two  to  three  years,  in  the  manner  described,  in 
the  hospitals,  I  bestowed,  as  almoner  for  others, 
many,  many  thousands  of  dollars.  I  learned  one 
thing  conclusively — that  beneath  all  the  ostensible 
greed  and  heartlessness  of  our  times  there  is  no 
end  to  the  generous  benevolence  of  men  and 
women  in  the  United  States,  when  once  sure  of 
their  object.  Another  thing  became  clear  to  me — 
while  cash  is  not  amiss  to  bring  up  the  rear,  tact 


158  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

and  magnetic  sympathy  and  unction  are,  and  ever 
will  be  sovereign  still.  — Specimen  Days  and  Col 
lect,  p.  57. 

THREE  YEARS    SUMM'D  UP. 

During  those  three  years  in  hospital,  camp,  or 
field,  I  made  over  six  hundred  visits  or  tours,  and 
went,  as  I  estimate,  counting  all,  among  from  eighty 
thousand  to  a  hundred  thousand  of  the  wounded 
and  sick,  as  sustainer  of  spirit  and  body  in  some 
degree  in  time  of  need.  These  visits  varied  from 
an  hour  or  two,  to  all  day  or  night ;  for  with  dear 
or  critical  cases  I  generally  watch'd  all  night. 
Sometimes  I  took  up  my  quarters  in  the  hospital, 
and  slept  or  watch'd  there  several  nights  in  suc 
cession.  Those  three  years  I  consider  the  greatest 
privilege  and  satisfaction  (with  all  their  feverish 
excitements  and  physical  deprivations  and  lamen 
table  sights),  and,  of  course,  the  most  profound  les 
son  of  my  life.  I  can  say  that  in  my  ministerings 
I  comprehended  all,  whoever  came  in  my  way, 
Northern  or  Southern,  and  slighted  none.  It 
arous'd  and  brought  out  and  decid'd  undream'd  of 
depths  of  emotion.  It  has  given  me  my  most  fer 
vent  views  of  the  true  ensemble  and  extent  of  the 
States.  While  I  was  with  wounded  and  sick  in 
thousands  of  cases  from  the  New  England  States, 
and  from  New  York,  New  Jersey,  and  Penn 
sylvania,  and  from  Michigan,  Wisconsin,  Ohio, 
Indiana,  Illinois,  and  all  the  Western  States,  I  was 
with  more  or  less  from  all  the  States,  North  and 


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SERVICES  TO   THE   UNION  CAUSE.     159 

South,  without  exception.  I  was  with  many  from 
the  border  States,  especially  from  Maryland  and 
Virginia,  and  found,  during  those  lurid  years 
1862,  1863,  far  more  Union  Southerners,  especially 
Tennesseans,  than  is  supposed.  I  was  with  many 
rebel  officers  and  men  among  our  wounded,  and 
gave  them  always  what  I  had  and  tried  to  cheer 
them  the  same  as  any,  I  was  among  the  army 
teamsters  considerably,  and,  indeed,  always  found 
myself  drawn  to  them.  Among  the  black  soldiers, 
wounded  or  sick,  and  in  the  contraband  camps,  I 
also  took  my  way  whenever  in  their  neighbor 
hood,  and  did  what  I  could  for  them. — Specimen 
Days  and  Collect.,  pp.  78  and  79. 

Mr.  Whitman  lived  a  plain  and  practi 
cal  life  in  Washington  in  1863,  1864, 
1865,  or  while  receiving  and  disbursing 
the  money  in  question.  That  he  applied 
it  (and  much  of  his  own  money)  in  excess 
of  a  bare  living,  to  the  purpose  for  which 
it  was  subscribed,  is  borne  out  by  the  fact 
that  he  was  so  miserably  poor  when  out 
of  Government  employment.  His  pay  as 
clerk  and  copyist  in  the  Departments  at 
Washington  he  used  for  living  purposes 
until  1873,  when  he  went  to  Camden,  and 
there  he  spent  what  he  had  saved  and 
remained  poor,  and  frightfully  poor  at 


160  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

times,  until,  by  sale  of  bis  books  from 
1876  to  1885,  and  certain  efforts  of  his 
friends,  he  got  on  his  feet. 

He  notes  his  preparation  for  visits  to 
the  hospitals  in  this  way  : 

In  my  visits  to  the  hospitals  I  found  it  was  in 
the  simple  matter  of  personal  presence,  and  ema 
nating  ordinary  cheer  and  magnetism,  that  I  suc 
ceeded  and  helped  more  than  by  medical  nursing, 
or  delicacies,  or  gifts  of  money,  or  anything  else. 
During  the  War  I  possessed  the  perfection  of 
physical  health.  My  habit,  when  practicable,  was 
to  prepare  for  starting  out  on  one  of  those  daily 
or  nightly  tours  of  from  a  couple  to  four  or  five 
hours,  by  fortifying  myself  with  previous  rest,  the 
bath,  clean  clothes,  a  good  meal,  and  as  cheeerful 
an  appearance  as  possible. — Specimen  Days  and 
Collect.,  p.  38. 

As  to  his  methods  when  visiting  the 
sick  or  wounded  soldiers,  he  best  states 
them  : 

SUMMER  OF  1864. 

I  am  back  again  in  Washington,  on  my  regu 
lar  daily  and  nightly  rounds.  Of  course  there  are 
many  specialties.  Dotting  a  ward  here  and  there 
are  always  cases  of  poor  fellows,  long-suffering 
under  obstinate  wounds,  or  weak  and  dishearten'd 
from  typhoid  fever,  or  the  like;  mark'd  cases, 


SERVICES  TO  THE   UNION  CAUSE.     161 

needing  special  and  sympathetic  nourishment. 
These  I  sit  down  and  either  talk  to,  or  silently 
cheer  them  up.  They  always  like  it  hugely  (and 
so  do  I).  Each  case  has  its  peculiarities  and  needs 
some  new  adaptation.  I  have  learnt  to  thus 
conform— learnt  a  good  deal  of  hospital  wisdom. 
Some  of  the  poor  young  chaps,  away  from  home 
for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  hunger  and  thirst 
for  affection ;  this  is  sometimes  the  only  thing  that 
will  reach  their  condition.  The  men  like  to  have 
a  pencil  and  something  to  write  in.  I  have  given 
them  cheap  pocket-diaries,  and  almanacs  for  1864, 
interleav'd  with  blank  paper.  For  reading  I  gen 
erally  have  some  old  pictorial  magazines  or  story 
papers — they  are  always  acceptable.  Also  the 
morning  or  evening  papers  of  the  day.  The  best 
books  I  do  not  give,  but  lend  to  read  through  the 
wards,  and  then  take  them  to  others,  and  so  on  ; 
they  are  very  punctual  about  returning  the  books. 
In  these  wards,  or  on  the  field,  as  I  thus  continue 
to  go  round,  I  have  come  to  adapt  myself  to  each 
emergency,  after  its  kind  or  call,  however  trivial, 
however  solemn,  everyone  justified  and  made  real 
under  its  circumstances — not  only  visits  and  cheer 
ing  talk  and  little  gifts— not  only  washing  and 
dressing  wounds  (I  have  some  cases  where  the 
patient  is  unwilling  anyone  should  do  this  but 
ine),  but  passages  from  the  Bible,  expounding 
them,  prayer  at  the  bedside,  explanations  of  doc 
trine,  etc.  (I  think  I  see  my  friends  smiling  at 
this  confession,  but  I  was  never  more  in  earnest  in 
my  life.)  In  camp  and  everywhere,  I  was  in  the 


162  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

habit  of  reading  or  giving  recitations  to  the  men. 
They  were  very  fond  of  it,  and  liked  declamatory 
poetical  pieces.  We  would  gather  in  a  large  group 
by  ourselves,  after  supper,  and  spend  the  time  in 
such  readings,  or  in  talking,  and  occasionally  by 
an  amusing  game  called  the  game  of  twenty 
questions. — Specimen  Days  and  Collect.,  pp. 
51-52. 


The  proposition  to  pension  Mr.  Whit 
man  for  his  services  as  an  Army  nurse, 
by  Congress,  in  1887,  was  chiefly  pre 
vented  by  Mr.  Whitman.  His  pecuniary 
condition  had  changed — and  for  the 
better.  He  was  not  a  dependent  and  did 
not  want  to  be  so  considered.  Therefore, 
the  bill,  although  reported  favorably  to 
the  House  of  Representatives,  was  not 
pressed.  It  was  introduced  by  the  Hon. 
Henry  B.  Lovering  of  Lynn,  Mass., 
representing  the  6th  Massachusetts  Dis 
trict  in  the  49th  Congress.  It  and  the 
Report  are  given  in  full. 

[The  certificate  of  Dr.  D.  W.  Bliss, 
who  was  surgeon  in  charge  of  Armory 
Square  Hospital,  Washington,  D.  C., 
where  Mr.  Whitman  was  an  almost  con 
stant  nurse  and  visitor,  is  very  valuable 


SERVICES  TO  THE   UNION  CAUSE.     163 

as  to  his  services.     This  was  first  pub 
lished  in  Mr.  Lovering's  Report.] 


49TH  CONGRESS,  2o  SESSION. 

H.  R.  10707. 

REPORT  No.  3856. 


IN   THE   HOUSE    OF    REPRESENTATIVES. 

JANUARY  17,  1887.— Read  twice,  referred  to  the 
Committee  on  Invalid  Pensions,  and  ordered  to 
be  printed. 

FEBRUARY  1,  1887. — Committed  to  the  Commit 
tee  of  the  Whole  House  and  ordered  to  be  printed. 


Mr.  LOVERING  introduced  the  following  bill : 

A  BILL 
Granting  a  pension  to  Walt  Whitman. 

1  Be  it  enacted  by  the  Senate  and  House  of 

2  Representatives    of    the     United    States    of 

3  America    in    Congress    assembled,    That    the 

4  Secretary  of  the  Interior  be,  and  he  hereby  is, 

5  authorized  and  directed  to  place  on  the  pension- 

6  roll  the  name  of  Walt  Whitman,  and  pay  him 

7  a  pension  of  twenty-five  dollars  a  month. 


164          WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 
49TH  CONGRESS,  2n  SESSION. 

HOUSE  OF  REPRESENTATIVES. 

REPORT  No.  8856. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 


FEBRUARY  1,  1887.— Committed  to  the  Com 
mittee  of  the  Whole  House  and  ordered  to  be 
printed. 


Mr.  LOVERING,  from  the  Committee  on  Invalid 
Pensions,  submitted  the  following 

REPORT : 

[To  accompany  bill  H.  R.  10707.] 

The  Committee  on  Invalid  Pensions,  to  whom 
was  referred  the  bill  (H.  R.  10707)  for  the  relief 
of  Walt  Whitman,  beg  leave  to  submit  the  fol 
lowing  report  : 

Walt  Whitman  dedicated  himself  during  the 
period  of  the  civil  war  to  the  unceasing  care,  as  a 
volunteer  nurse,  of  our  sick  and  wounded  soldiers. 
The  almost  devotional  ministrations  of  the  *  *  Good 
Gray  Poet"  are  well  known  to  the  citizens  of 
Washington  and  of  the  nation. 

Beginning  his  services  in  1862,  at  the  front, 
whither  he  had  gone  to  attend  a  brother  who  had 
been  wounded,  he  stayed  on  after  Fredericksburg 
through  the  depth  of  winter,  in  the  flimsy  tents 


SERVICES  TO  THE  UNION  CAUSE.     165 

and  in  the  impromptu  hospitals,  where  thousands 
lay  wounded,  helpless,  dying. 

Returning  to  Washington  with  the  convalescent 
wounded,  and  at  the  time  having  no  definite 
plans,  but  interested  in  the  good  work,  he  contin 
ued  his  visits  to  the  hospitals  and  stayed  on,  and 
on,  gradually  falling  into  the  labor  and  occupa 
tion  of  nursing.  Any  place  he  could  be  of  most 
good  or  render  most  service  seemed  most  satisfac 
tory  to  him.  Says  the  Philadelphia  Progress, 
November  11,  1882  : 

-7 

It  is  not  generally  known  that  Walt  Whitman's 
frequent  spells  of  paralysis  and  sickness  the  last 
fifteen  years  are  legacies  from  his  overstrained 
labors  in  the  secession  war.  Never  was  there  a 
grander  and  more  perfect  physique  than  he  threw 
into  that  contest  in  1862  with  all  the  ardor  of  his 
nature,  and  continued  till  1865,  not  as  a  destroyer 
of  life,  but  as  its  savior,  as  volunteer  Army  nurse 
and  missionary  day  and  night,  through  the  whole 
of  three  uninterrupted  years,  always  tending  the 
Southern  wounded  just  the  same  as  the  Northern,  i 

William  Douglas  O'Connor,  in  a  letter  dated 
Washington,  December  2,  1865,  said  : 

He  has  been  a  constant  voluntary  nurse  night 
and  day  at  the  hospitals  from  the  beginning  of 
the  war  to  the  present  time  ;  a  brother  and  friend 
through  life  to  the  neglected  and  the  forgotten, 
the  poor,  the  degraded,  the  criminal,  the  outcast. 
His  is  the  strongest  and  truest  compassion  I  have 
ever  known. 

Of  all  men  I  know,  his  life  is  most  in  the  life  of 


166  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

the  nation.  I  remember  when  the  first  draft  was 
ordered,  at  a  time  when  he  was  already  perform 
ing  an  arduous  and  perilous  duty  as  a  volunteer 
attendant  upon  the  wounded  in  the  field — a  duty 
which  cost  him  the  only  illness  he  ever  had  in  his 
life,  and  a  very  severe  and  dangerous  illness  it 
was,  the  result  of  poison  absorbed  in  his  devotion 
to  the  worst  cases  of  hospital  gangrene,  and 
when  it  would  have  been  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world  to  evade  duty,  for  only  then,  forty-two  or 
forty- three  years  old  he  looked  a  hale  sixty,  and 
no  enrolling  officer  would  have  paused  for  an 
instant  before  his  gray  hair.  I  remember,  I  say, 
how  anxious  and  careful  he  was  to  get  his  name 
put  on  the  enrollment  lists  that  he  might  stand 
his  chance  for  martial  service  ;  this,  too,  at  a  time 
when  so  many  gentlemen  were  skulking,  dodging, 
agonizing  for  substitutes,  and  practicing  every 
i  conceivable  device  to  escape  military  duty. 

John  Swinton,  in  a  letter  to  the  New  York 
Herald,  April  1,  1876,  says  : 

I  knew  him  in  his  splendid  prime,  when  his 
familiar  figure  was  daily  seen  on  Broadway. 

Rich  in  good  works  and  in  saddening  trials,  he 
has  remained  the  same  genuine  man  in  whom  the 
well-springs  of  poetry  gave  perpetual  freshness  to 
the  passing  years. 

His  paralysis  was  the  result  of  his  exhausting 
labors  among  our  sick  and  wounded  soldiers  in 
the  hospitals  near  Washington  during  the  war.  I 
saw  something  of  these  labors  when  I  was  visiting 
the  hospitals.  I  can  testify,  as  countless  others 
can,  that  for  at  least  three  years  the  ' '  Good  Gray 
Poet "  spent  a  large  portion  of  his  time,  day  and 
night,  in  the  hospitals  as  nurse  and  comforter  of 
those  who  had  been  maimed  or  otherwise  pros- 


SERVICES  TO   THE  UNION  CAUSE.     167 

trated  in  the  service  of  their  country.  I  first 
heard  of  him  among-  the  sufferers  on  the  Peninsula 
after  a  battle  there.  Subsequently  I  saw  him  time 
and  again  in  the  Washington  hospitals.  His 
devotion  surpassed  the  devotion  of  woman.  It 
would  take  a  volume  to  tell  of  his  kindness, 
tenderness,  and  thoughtfulness.  Never  shall  I 
forget  one  night  when  I  accompanied  him  on  his 
rounds  through  a  hospital  filled  with  those 
wounded  young  Americans  whose  heroism  he  has 
sung  in  deathless  numbers. 

When  he  appeared,  passing  along,  there  was  a 
smile  of  affection  and  welcome  on  every  face, 
however  wan,  and  his  presence  seemed  to  light  up 
the  place  as  it  might  be  lit  by  the  presence  of  the 
Son  of  Love. 

From  cot  to  cot  they  called  him,  often  in  tremu 
lous  tones  or  in  whispers  ;  they  embraced  him, 
they  touched  his  hand,  they  gazed  at  him.  To 
one  he  gave  a  few  words  of  cheer,  for  another  he 
wrote  a  letter  home,  to  others  he  gave  an  orange, 
a  few  comfits,  a  cigar,  pipe,  or  tobacco,  a  sheet  of 
paper,  or  a  postage-stamp  ;  all  of  which  and 
many  other  things  were  in  his  capacious  haver 
sack.  From  another  he  would  receive  a  dying 
message  for  mother,  wife,  or  sweetheart  ;  for 
another  he  would  promise  to  go  an  errand  ;  to 
another,  some  special  friend,  very  low,  he  would 
give  a  manly  farewell  kiss.  He  seemed  to  leave  a* 
benediction  at  every  cot  as  he  passed  along.  The 
lights  had  gleamed  for  hours  in  this  hospital  that 
night  before  he  left  it,  and  as  he  took  his  way 
toward  the  door  you  could  hear  the  voice  of  many 
a  stricken  hero  calling,  "Walt  !  Walt  !  Walt  ! 
come  again  ;  come  again." 

His  basket  arid  store,  filled  with  all  sorts  of  odds 
and  ends  for  the  men,  had  been  emptied.  He  had 
really  little  to  give,  but  it  seemed  to  me  as  though 
he  gave  more  than  other  men. 


168  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

The  following  is  an  extract  written  by  a  lady  to 
Richard  Maurice  Bucke,  M.  D. : 

I  remember  calling  on  him  (Whitman)  in 
Washington,  during  the  war,  with  Mr.  T.  He 
occupied  a  little  room  in  the  third  or  fourth  story 
of  a  house  where  he  could  get  the  cheapest  rent. 
He  was  just  eating  his  breakfast.  It  was  about 
10  A.  M.  ;  he  sat  beside  the  fire  toasting  a  slice  of 
bread  on  a  jack-knife,  with  a  cup  of  tea  without 
milk,  a  little  sugar  in  a  brown  paper,  and  butter 
in  some  more  brown  paper.  He  was  making  his 
meal  for  the  next  eight  hours  ;  he  was  using  all 
his  means  and  time  and  energies  for  the  sick  and 
wounded  in  the  hospitals. 

Dr.  R.  M.  Bucke,  in  his  work  on  Whitman, 
says  : 

A  surgeon  who,  throughout  the  war,  had  charge 
of  one  of  the  largest  Army  hospitals  in  Washing 
ton  told  him  that  he  watched  for  many  months 
Walt  Whitman's  ministerings  to  the  sick  and 
wounded,  and  was  satisfied  that  he  saved  many 
lives.  I  do  not  believe  this  statement  exaggerated. 
I  believe,  knowing  him  as  I  do,  and  having  some 
knowledge  of  medicine,  that  the  man  did  possess 
an  extraordinary  power,  by  which  he  must  in 
many  cases  have  been  able  to  turn  the  scale  in 
favor  of  life  when,  without  him,  the  result  would 
have  been  death. 

Dr.  D.  W.  Bliss,  now  of  Washington,  D.  C.,  a 
celebrated  physician  and  surgeon,  who  had  charge 
of  the  Armory  Square  Hospital  in  that  city  during 
the  war,  in  a  letter  dated  January  27,  1887,  says  : 


SERVICES  TO    THE  UNION  CAUSE.     169 

From  my  personal  knowledge  of  Mr.  Whitman's 
labors  in  Armory  Square  and  other  hospitals,  I 
am  of  opinion  that  no  one  person  who  assisted  in 
the  hospitals  during-  the  war  accomplished  so 
much  good  to  the  soldier  and  for  the  Government 
as  Mr.  Whitman. 

Numberless  extracts  could  be  made  showing  the 
same  tireless  devotion  and  the  noble,  unaffected, 
self-sacrificing,  patriotic  nature  and  work  of  this 
man  through  the  long  weary  years  of  the  civil 
conflict,  alike  to  the  sick  and  wounded  of  the 
South  as  well  as  of  the  North.  His  was  a  mission 
to  be  performed  at  the  expense  of  personal  com 
forts,  at  the  risk  of  health  or  life,  if  need  be  ;  in 
fact,  at  any  cost. 

He,  who  at  that  period  boasted  that  never  had 
medicine  passed  his  lips,  had  no  thought  or  fear 
of  ever  breaking  down,  so  engrossed  was  he  in 
carrying  out  his  chosen  work.  But,  like  many 
another,  in  his  strongest  moment  he  was  weakest  ; 
for  the  risks  he  took  in  dressing  sickening  fetid 
wounds,  many  times  brought  in  crawling  with 
corruption,  eventually  broke  him  down. 

The  surgeons  called  his  disease  hospital  malaria. 
But  his  splendid  physique,  his  peculiarly  sensitive 
and  sympathetic  nature,  was  sapped  by  labor, 
watchings,  dreads,  deaths,  and  anxieties  of  three 
long  years,  before  it  finally  succumbed  to  disease. 
This  was  in  the  hot  summer  of  1864.  He  never 
recovered  from  it.  He  went  North  a  short  time, 
and  gaining  strength  he  returned,  apparently 
better,  to  his  hospital  work,  which  he  continued 


170  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

till  the  close  of  the  war,  but  never  again  the 
strong,  athletic  man  he  was.  Constantly  ailing, 
his  disease  culminated  or  merged  into  paralysis, 
the  first  stroke  occurring  in  February  [January] 
1873.  During  that  year  and  1874  and  1875  his 
life  hung  upon  a  thread,  since  which  time  he 
has  been  alternately  sick  or  partially  well.  He  is 
now  a  permanent  paralytic,  and  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  gets  from  one  room  to  another,  in  his 
humble  little  dwelling  on  Mickle  Street,  Camden, 
N.  J.  He  is  sixty-eight  years  old  and  poor,  and 
were  it  not  for  small  contributions  from  time  to 
time,  from  friends  who  sympathize  with  him  in 
his  poverty,  age  and  helplessness,  would  actually 
suffer  for  the  bare  necessaries  of  life.  Your 
committee  have  been  informed  that  for  many  years 
his  income  from  all  sources  has  not  exceeded 
an  average  of  two  hundred  dollars,  which  to  a  per 
son  in  his  helpless  condition  goes  but  a  short  way 
even  in  supplying  the  roughest  and  commonest  of 
food  and  care. 

His  wants  are  not  many,  for  he  lives  simply 
from  necessity  and  choice,  but  in  old  age  and  in 
constantly  failing  health,  he  needs  that  comfort 
and  attendance  which  he  has  not  the  means  to 
procure.  Considering  the  unremunerated  service 
of  this  man,  for  three  years,  during  which  he  not 
only  nursed  freely  the  sick  and  wounded  on  the 
battlefield,  and  in  the  hospitals  of  camp  and  city, 
without  sparing  himself,  but  he  also  spent  of  his 
scanty  means  above  his  bare  support  in  furnishing 


SERVICES  TO  THE   UNION  CAUSE.     171 

little  delicacies  and  articles  not  on  the  hospital 
bills  of  fare  ;  that  while  engaged  in  this  work  his 
strong  constitution  was  undermined  and  broke 
down  ;  that  ever  since  he  has  been  a  constant 
sufferer,  your  committee  therefore  are  of  opinion 
that  he  is  fairly  entitled  to  the  gratitude  of  the 
country  in  this  the  hour  of  his  age  and 
dependence. 

They  therefore  report  back  the  accompanying 
bill  and  recommend  its  passage. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
MR.  WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY,  1885. 

His  Infirmities  Increasing— The  Idea  of  a  Horse  and  Buggy  Occurs 
—A  Letter  Sent  Out— Prompt  Kesponse  of  Those  Addressed— 
A  Number  of  Characteristic  Keplies— The  Horse  and  Buggy 
Are  Presented— Mr.  Whitman's  Gratification— The  Pleasure  He 
Took  in  It  and  Good  that  It  Did  Him. 

MR.  WHITMAN'S  infirmities  in 
creasing,  and  his  outdoor  locomo 
tion  being  prevented  thereby,  in  August, 
1885,  it  occurred  to  a  friend  that  a  horse 
and  buggy  would  be  a  comfort  to  him. 
A  letter  was  prepared  and  sent  out  to 
thirty-five  gentlemen  and  one  lady. 
Three  of  the  persons  addressed  were 
absent.  Thirty-two  answered  promptly, 
enclosing  ten  dollars  each,  making  a 
total  of  three  hundred  and  twenty  dol 
lars  raised  for  the  purpose.  Some  of  the 
letters  inclosing  the  money  were  inter 
esting. 

172 


.     w 

it 

a  s 


WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY.     173 

FIFTH  AVENUE  HOTEL, 
NEW  YORK,  August  29,  1885. 
MY  DEAR  — — : 

In  re  W.  W.,  of  course ! ! !  You  are  a  dear  good 
fellow  for  the  thought  and  I  am  obliged  to  you 
for  letting  me  in  the  crowd.  Gee !  Whoa ! 

WM.  J.  FLORENCE. 

MVDEAKMH.—:  August  29,  1885. 

I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you  for  letting  me  know 
about  Walt  Whitman's  "horse  and  buggy."  I 
am  up  here  in  the  country,  where  it  is  somewhat 
difficult  to  lay  hold  of  checks,  etc.,  but  I  will  mail 
you  my  ten  dollars  early  in  the  week.  If  there  is 
any  deficit  I  shall  be  glad  to  help  still  more. 

By  the  way,  that  English  subscription  galls  me. 
If  he  needs  anything  cannot  the  money  be  raised 
at  home  ?  I  had  no  idea  he  was  straitened.  I 
started  that  New  York  lecture  scheme  some  time 
ago  (going  to  Europe,  though,  before  it  was  deliv 
ered),  and  would  at  any  time  be  glad  to  make  an 
humble  subscription  in  any  movement  started. 
Sincerely, 

.    E.  W.  GILDER. 

Mr.   Gilder  was   at  a  summer  outing 
place  when  the  above  was  written. 

HARTFORD,  CONN., 

September  3,  1885. 

DEAR : 

Here  is  the  ten  dollars  for  a  Whitman  horse. 
It  ought  to  buy  a  pretty  good  one  as  horses  go. 


174  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

Try  to  get  a  horse  with  a  mane  and  tail.     This 
looks  better.  CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER. 

ELMIRA,  August  26,  1885. 

DEAR  MR. : 

(Ten  dollars  inclosed.) 

I  comply  instantly,  with  thanks  for  letting  me 
in.    I  have  a  great  veneration  for  the  old  man, 
and  would  be  glad  to  help  pay  his  turnout's  board, 
year  after  year,  and  buy  another  when  it  fails. 
Truly  Yours, 

S.  L.  CLEMENS. 

BELMONT,  MASS., 

September  4,  1885. 

DEAR  SIR  :  Please  find  inclosed  a  check  for  ten 
dollars.  I  have  heard  through  Mr.  Bartlett  of 
Boston,  that  a  movement  is  on  foot  by  which  Walt 
Whitman's  friends  are  permitted  to  join  in  a  plan 
for  his  comfort. 

It  gives  me  the  greatest  possible  pride  and  satis 
faction  to  be  of  the  number. 

Very  Truly  Yours, 

L.  N.  FAIRCHILD. 

OFFICE  "  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIMES," 
NEW  YORK,  September  5,  1885. 

DEAR  MR. : 

I  send  the  ten  dollars  with  genuine  pleasure. 
You'll  have  great  happiness  in  the  surprise  of  the 
veteran  when  he  receives  the  present. 
Yours  Most  Truly, 

E.  A.  BUCK. 


WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY.     175 

John  G-.  Whittier,  in  a  personal  letter 
from  Danvers,  June  5,  1885,  among  other 
things  wrote : 

DEAR  FRIEND  :  I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  the  phys 
ical  disabilities  of  the  man  who  tenderly  nursed 
the  wounded  Union  soldiers  and  as  tenderly  sung 
the  dirge  of  their  great  captain.  I  have  no  doubt, 
in  his  lameness,  that  a  kind,  sober-paced  roadster 
would  be  more  serviceable  to  him  than  the 
untamed,  rough-jolting  Pegasus  he  has  been  ac 
customed  to  ride— without  check  or  snaffle.  I 
inclose  my  mite,  for  the  object  named  in  thy 
note,  with  all  good  wishes. 

I  need  not  say  perhaps  that  I  have  been  pained 
by  some  portions  of  W.  W.'s  writings,  which  for 
his  own  sake,  and  that  of  his  readers,  I  wish 
could  be  omitted. 

Thy  Friend, 

JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 

BEVERLY  FARMS,  MASS., 

September  4,  1885. 

DEAR  SIR:  I  shall  be  happy  to  contribute  my 
ten  dollars  toward  the  kindly  object  you  mention. 
Will  a  check  on  the  Hamilton  Bank  of  Boston 
answer  the  purpose  ?  If  so,  I  will  send  it  when 
ever  notified. 

Yours  Very  Truly, 

O.  W.  HOLMES. 


176  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

BEVERLY  FARMS,  MASS., 

September  8,  1885. 

MY  DEAR  SIR:  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  inclose 
the  check  for  ten  dollars  which  I  promised  as  my 
cheerful  contribution  to  the  kind  project  for  the 
benefit  of  Mr.  Walt  Whitman. 

Very  Truly  Yours, 

O.  W.  HOLMES. 

PHILADELPHIA, 

MY  DEAR :      .  September  8,  1885. 

Your  letter  has  just  been    received    here.    It 
gives  me  great  pleasure  to  inclose  ten  dollars. 
After  a  fellow  has  his  bread  and  butter  paid  for 
there  is  nothing  better  for  his  money. 
Faithfully, 

EDWARD  T.  STEEL. 

LONDON,  CANADA, 

MY  DEAR  MR. :  September  7,  1885. 

I  inclose  P.  O.  order  for  twenty  dollars — ten 
dollars  from  myself  and  ten  dollars  from  Dr. 
Beemer  (Walt  will  know  who  he  is).  I  like  your 
little  scheme  very  much,  and  am  very  glad  (as  is 
also  Dr.  Beemer)  that  you  have  given  me  and  him 
a  chance  to  be  in  it. 

I  hope  to  be  in  Philadelphia  and  Camden  some 
time  next  month.  Will  have  a  drive  with  horse 
if  all  be  well,  and  will  look  you  up. 

Yours, 

R.  M.  BUOKE. 


WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY.     177 

NEWPORT,  R.  I., 
September  9,  1885.    Box  555. 
DEAR  SIR:  Absence  from  home  has  prevented 
an  earlier    reply   to    your   favor  of  August  31, 
regarding1  the  horse  and  buggy  for  W.  Whitman. 
I  hasten  to  acknowledge  it  and  to  say  that  I  will 
gladly  subscribe,    How  shall  I  send  the  amount? 
If  by  check,  to  whose  order  ?    Excuse  haste. 
Truly  Yours, 

EDWIN  BOOTH. 

PHILADELPHIA, 

September  10,  1885. 

MY  DEAR  SIR:  Inclosed  please  find  the  ten 
dollars  for  the  horse  and  trap. 

With  hopes  of  its  enjoyment  by  the  old  man, 
I  am, 

Yours, 

WILLIAM  M.  SINGERLY. 

PHILADELPHIA, 

September  10,  1885. 
Here's  the  cash  and  mum's  the  word. 
Yours, 

A.  K.  McCLURE. 

PHILADELPHIA, 

September  15,  1885. 

DEAR  MR. : 

I  inclose  check  to  your  order  for  ten  dollars,  on 
account  of  the  Whitman  gift.  I  hope  you  will 
bear  in  mind  the  stipulation  that  if  there  is  any 


178  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

deficiency  I  am  to  have  the  privilege  of  helping  to 
make  it  up. 

Yours  Very  Truly, 

TALCOTT  WILLIAMS. 

PHILADELPHIA, 

September  15,  1885. 

MY   DEAR : 

Of  course  I  am  glad  to  give  the  inclosed  sum 
for  any  object  in  which  you  are  interested,  and 
this  object  is  so  good  I  am  glad  to  give  it  for  the 
object's  sake. 

Sincerely  Yours, 

WAYNE  MACVEAGH. 

PHILADELPHIA, 

September  15, 1885. 

DEAR  SIR  :  Mr.  Childs  received  your  polite  note 
of  8th  inst. ,  on  his  return  from  Long  Branch.  He 
desires  me  to  hand  you  the  twenty  dollars  inclosed 
(ten  dollars  from  Mr.  Childs,  and  ten  dollars  from 
Mr.  A.  J.  Drexel),  which  he  takes  pleasure  in 
contributing  to  purchase  the  horse  and  buggy  for 
Mr.  Walt  Whitman,  for  whom  he  is  always  glad 
to  do  anything. 

Mr.  Childs  thinks  the  idea  a  good  one,  and  is 
glad  it  occurred  to  you. 

Yours  Respectfully, 

FRANK  SMITH. 

WALLINGFORD  P.  O.,  DELAWARE  Co.,  PA., 

September  10,  1885. 
DEAR   SIR  :    I  thank    you    sincerely    for   the 


WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY.     179 

opportunity    of  showing    my    regard  for  Walt 
Whitman. 

I  inclose  my  check  for  ten  dollars  and  remain, 
Gratefully  Yours, 

HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS. 

Another  from  Mr.  Furness  of  date  of 
September  21,  1885  : 

DEAR  MR. : 

I  am  personally  grateful  to  you  for  the  privilege 
of  aiding  in  the  gift  to  "  the  good  gray  poet." 

How  admirably  you  managed  it  ! 

Pray  always  count  me  in  whenever  there  is 
anything  to  be  done  for  the  ease  and  comfort  of 
Walt  Whitman. 

Are  you  not  out  of  pocket  yourself  for  the  print 
ing  of  this  "Account  of  Disbursements"  ?  And 
won't  you  let  me  go  shares  ? 

Faithfully  Yours, 

HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS. 

September  21,  1885. 

PHILADELPHIA, 

September  12,  1885. 
DEAR  MR. : 

Yours  received.  The  scheme  of  a  horse  and 
buggy  for  Walt  Whitman  is  right.  Here  is  my 
check  for  ten  dollars. 

Yours, 

CHAS.  EMORY  SMITH. 


180  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

NEW  YORK,  September  12,  1885. 

MY  DEAR : 

I  deem  it  a  pleasure  to  join  with  you  and  others 
in  the  reminder  to  the  grand  old  man,  that  the 
pleasure  he  has  afforded  us  is  not  forgotten  by 
his  admiring  friends. 

Sincerely, 

S.  B.  ELKINS. 

LONDON,  CANADA, 

September  12,  1885. 

DEAR  SIR  :  Your  letter  of  the  3d  followed  me 
up  here,  where  I  have  been  some  time,  much 
broken  up  with  nervous  exhaustion  from  over 
work,  to  which  this  wretched  hand  writing  testifies. 
I  send  you  with  pleasure  the  sum  you  mention 
for  dear  old  Walt's  equipage.  Hoping  it  will  help 
him  on,  and  glad  to  be  allowed  to  chip  in,  I  am, 
Very  Truly  Yours, 

WM.  D.  O'CONNOR. 

1720  WALNUT  STREET, 

September  14,  1885. 
MY  DEAR  MR. : 

Of  course  I  shall  be  glad  to  subscribe  to  any 
thing  that  will  add  to  the  comfort  of  dear  old 
Walt.  Put  me  down,  and  send  me  word  when 
you  want  the  money. 

While  we  are  on  this  subject,  could  we  not  get 
one  hundred  men  to  subscribe  ten  dollars  a  year 
each,  for  a  fund  to  be  given  for  Walt  during  his 
life,  and  to  be  continued  for  one  year  after  his 
death, — the  last  subscription  to  be  used,  with  addi- 


WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY.     181 

tions,  perhaps,  to  erect  a  decent  tomb  for  our  dear 
old  poet  ?  What  do  you  say  to  making  the  effort  ? 
I  was  a  subscriber  to  such  a  fund  for  Wm.  Wood, 
the  actor,  and  for  Mr.  Sully,  the  artist,  and  God 
only  knows  how  much  good  it  did  those  worthy 
old  men  after  they  were  past  helping  themselves. 

Besides,  as  your  observation  must  have  taught 
you,  pensioners  never  die  ;  and  we  would  like  to 
assure  to  Whitman  a  physical  as  well  as  a  lit 
erary  immortality. 

Yours  Very  Sincerely, 

GEO.  H.  BOKER. 

Another  from  Mr.  Boker : 

1720  WALNUT  STREET, 

September  21, 1885. 

MY  DEAR  MR. : 

I  congratulate  you  on  having  arranged  the 
affair  of  the  "turn-out"  so  admirably.  If  you 
are  able  to  do  everything  in  this  manner,  I  shall 
be  happy  to  place  myself,  my  family,  and  my 
fortunes  under  your  wise  guardianship. 

There  was  an  English  ' '  whip  "  who  said  that  he 
had  but  one  ambition,  i.  e., "  to  stand  upon  the  side 
walk  and  see  himself  drive  by  in  a  four-in-hand  !  " 
I  am  sure  that  it  will  equal  the  Englishman's  im 
possible  pleasure  to  me,  when  I  first  see  noble  old 
Walt  roll  by  in  his  phaeton. 

With  my  love  to  him,  I  am, 

Very  Sincerely  Yours, 

GEO.  H.  BOKER. 


182          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

One  of  the  gentlemen  invited  to  sub 
scribe  was  absent  from  Philadelphia  until 
September  30, 1885.  To  show  his  interest 
in  the  matter,  he  wrote  the  following  : 

PHILADELPHIA, 

September  30,  1885. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  :  On  my  return  home  after  an 
absence  of  three  weeks  I  find  your  letter  in  refer 
ence  to  the  horse' and  buggy  for  Walt  Whitman. 
I  should  be  delighted  to  be  counted  in  for  so 
laudable  an  object,  and  if  not  too  late  will  be 
glad  to  forward  you  the  amount. 

Very  Truly  Yours, 

FRANK  THOMSON. 

I  dropped  in  at  Mr.  Whitman's  house 
in  Camden  in  a  usual  manner  at  about 
four  o'clock  on  Tuesday,  September  15, 
1885.  Mr.  Whitman  was  reclining  on  an 
old  lounge  in  the  parlor.  I  sat  by  him 
on  a  chair  and  we  chatted  about  his 
health  and  the  weather.  Presently  I 
heard  the  gift  buggy  come  up  to  the  door. 
It  was  driven  by  Master  Elaine  Donald 
son,  a  lad  of  nine,  and  a  man  was  with 
him.  Mr.  Whitman  went  to  the  window 
and,  seeing  the  boy  and  buggy,  said,  as  I 
recall  it,  " Bless  me!  what  a  nice  turn- 


WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY.     183 

out !  and  there's  Elaine.  Well,  well, 
how  the  lad  does  seem  to  fit  it !  How 
comfortable  it  does  look!"  I  replied  : 
uYes;  that  does  seem  comfortable.  It 
belongs  to  you."  "Eh?"  "It  belongs? 
to  you  ; "  and  then  I  handed  him  a  letter 
containing  the  names  of  the  contributors 
and  an  envelope  with  $135.40  in  it,  the 
unexpended  balance.  He  looked  at  the 
paper,  read  it,  looked  at  me,  then  out  of 
the  window,  and  finally  the  tears  began 
to  trickle  down  his  cheeks.  I  left  shortly 
after.  I  was  told  that  for  an  hour  before 
sunset  of  that  day  a  buggy  was  seen 
speeding  at  a  fearful  rate  about  the  edges 
of  Camden,  and  driven  by  a  venerable 
man,  who  did  not  seem  disposed  to  cease 
riding.  Finally,  about  dark,  this  modern 
"Jehu  "  was  prevailed  upon  to  quit  the 
buggy  and  come  into  the  house. 

Mr.  Whitman's  pleasure  at  this  gift 
was  so  real,  unaffected,  and  earnest,  that 
all  who  contributed  were  paid  tenfold.  I 
think  he  prayed  for  each  and  all  of  them, 
for  he  was  a  devout,  if  not  a  creed  man. 
Mr.  Whitman  said,  after  he  received  the 
horse  and  buggy:  "I  have  before  now 


184  WALT   WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

been  made  to  feel  in  many  touching  ways 
how  kind  and  thoughtful  my  loving 
friends  are,  but  this  present  is  so  handsome 
and  valuable  and  came  so  opportunely, 
and  was  so  thoroughly  a  surprise,  that  I 
can  hardly  realize  it.  My  paralysis  has 
made  me  so  lame  lately  that  I  had  to  give 
up  my  walks.  It  seems  that  this  phaeton 
was  made  for  me  in  Columbus,  Ohio,  and 
it  is  as  easy  and  convenient  as  it  can  be. 
It  is  very  low  in  the  bed,  has  gig  lamps 
and  deep  cushions.  Oh !  I  shall  have  a 
famous  time  this  fall." 

Mr.  Whitman  wrote  an  acknowledg 
ment  to  the  gentlemen  composing  the 
Columbus  (O.)  Buggy  Company— Mr. 
Geo.  M.  Peters,  C.  D.  Firestone,  and 
O.  G.  Peters,  all  of  Columbus,  O.— for 
their  kindness  in  the  matter  of  the  buggy. 

328  MICKLE  STREET, 
CAMDEN,  N.  J.,  October  13,  1885. 
Thank  the  Columbus    Buggy  Co.,   and    their 
workmen,  for  the  beautiful  looking  and  practically 
perfect  buggy  furnished  me.     I  get  out  in  it  every 
day, — my  only  exercise, — and  I  find  it  the  easiest 
riding  vehicle  I  ever  sat  in.     Thank  them  for  a 
most  opportune  kindness  and  generosity  to  me. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 


WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY.      185 

After  all  subscriptions  were  in,  the 
gentleman  in  charge  sent  out  to  each 
subscriber  a  copy  of  the  following : 

PEIVATE. 

Statement  of  Receipts  and  Disbursements  of 
fund  for  Buggy  and  Horse,  for  Walt  Whitman. 


326  NORTH  FORTIETH  STREET, 
PHILADELPHIA,  PA.,  September  17,  1885. 
The  names  are  printed  as  the  subscriptions  were 
received. 

No  person  was  permitted  to  give  more  than  ten 
dollars. 

SUBSCRIBERS. 

Wm.  J.  Florence,  New  York  City  ;  R.  W. 
Gilder,  New  York  City  ;  Talcott  Williams,  Phila 
delphia,  Pa.;  T.  H.  Bartlett,  Boston,  Mass.; 
Edwin  S.  Stuart,  Philadelphia,  Pa. ;  Chas.  Dud 
ley  Warner,  Hartford,  Conn.;  S.  L.  Clemens, 
Hartford,  Conn.;  W.  W.  Justice,  Philadelphia, 
Pa.;  L.  N.  Fairchild,  Belmont,  Mass.;  E.  A. 
Buck,  Spirit  of  the  Times,  New  York  City  ; 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  Beverly  Farms,  Mass. ; 
Edward  T.  Steel,  Philadelphia,  Pa.;  Dr.  R.  M. 
Bucke,  London,  Canada  ;  Dr.  Beemer,  London, 
Canada ;  John  Boyle  O'Reilly,  Boston,  Mass. ; 
Wm.  M.  Singerly,  Philadelphia,  Pa.;  Alex.  K. 
McClure,  Philadelphia,  Pa. ;  John  G.  Whittier, 
Danvers,  Mass. ;  Edwin  Booth,  Boston,  Mass. ; 


186  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

Horace  Howard  Furness,  Philadelphia,  Pa. ;  Mrs. 
S.  A.  Bigelow,  Boston,  Mass. ;  John  Harkness 
Irena,  Ontario,  Canada ;  Chas.  Emory  Smith, 
Philadelphia,  Pa. ;  S.  B.  Elkins,  New  York ; 
George  H.  Boker,  Philadelphia,  Pa. ;  Lawrence 
Barrett,  Boston,  Mass. ;  Win.  D.  O'Connor,  Wash 
ington,  D.  C. ;  Wayne  MacVeagh,  Philadelphia, 
Pa.;  G-eo.  W.  Childs,  Philadelphia,  Pa.;  A  J. 
Drexel,  Philadelphia,  Pa. ;  C.  H.  T.  Collis,  New 
York  City  ;  Thomas  Donaldson,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
Eeceipts, $320  00 

DISBURSEMENTS. 

For  one  Buggy  Phaeton,  built  for 
Mr.  Whitman  by  Columbus  (Ohio) 
Buggy  Co.,  Value,  $275. 

Buggy — alterations    and    expressage    to 

Philadelphia  and  unpacking,     .        .      $74  60 
This  buggy  was  virtually  given  by 
the  Columbus  (Ohio)  Buggy  Co.,  viz., 
for  $60. 

Horse,  and  delivery,          .        .        .        .        68  00 
Worth  $100.     A  sorrel  pony,  Frank, 
used  by  ladies  and    children  in  a 
phaeton  at  the  sea-shore  during  1885. 

Harness — a  splendid  set,  less  than  half 

price, 22  50 

Whip,  Lap-Robe,  Blanket,  Halter,  etc., 
keep  six  days,  delivering,  etc.,  to  Mr. 
J.  Lewis, 19  50 

$184  60 


WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY.     187 

Given  to  Mr.  Whitman,  cash,  September 

16,  1885,  to  feed  the  horse,  etc.,      .    $135  40 

Total,       ....    $320  00 
Balance,          .        .        .    $  00  00 

The  outfit  was  delivered  by  a  messenger,  at  his 
house  at  Camden,  Tuesday,  September  15,  1885, 
at  4  o'clock  P.  M.,  together  with  a  list  of  the  donors. 
Mr.  Whitman's  pleasure  can  be  imagined. 

Camden  (in  New  Jersey)  is  so  rigid  a  commun 
ity  that  the  horse-cars  are  not  permitted  to  run 
on  Sunday  (private  carriages  and  buggies  are  as 
yet),  so  that  Mr.  Whitman  has  been  virtually  a 
prisoner  from  Saturdays  until  Mondays.  The 
buggy  and  horse  will  permit  him  to  go  about  and 
see  his  friends  on  Sundays. 

If  each  subscriber  feels  a  tithe  of  the  pleasure  in 
giving  that  Mr.  Whitman  showed  in  receiving 
and  has  in  using,  this  to  him  great  comfort,  they 
are  each  and  every  one  very  happy. 

Very  Respectfully, 


An  amusing  incident  occurred  in  con 
nection  with  Mr.  Whitman's  horse  and 
buggy,  on  Tuesday,  September  21,  1885. 
Some  one  by  mistake  carried  off  the  har 
ness.  A  great  deal  of  fun  was  poked  at 


188  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

Mr.  Whitman  on  account  of  this.  It  was 
returned  a  few  days  afterward.  The 
Philadelphia  News  of  September  21, 
1885,  contained  the  following: 

WALT  WHITMAN'S  HARNESS  GONE. 

THE  HORSE  CLOTHING  OP  THE  GOOD  GRAY  POET 
STOLEN  FROM  THE  STABLE. 

Somebody  has  stolen  Walt  Whitman's  harness 
that  poet  Whittier  and  the  rest  of  the  literati  of 
the  country  so  generously  presented  to  him  last 
week  with  the  rest  of  the  turnout.  The  good  gray 
poet  is  thinking  seriously  of  shaving  off  his  snowy 
beard  to  track  the  foul-hearted  wretch.  He  is 
much  grieved  over  the  tardiness  of  the  police  in 
not  capturing  the  thief.  This  morning,  shortly 
after  Mr.  Whitman  rode  across  on  the  ferry,  the 
following  lines  were  picked  up  by  a  News  re 
porter  : 


"  I  anger,  I  madden,  I  hump  my  amiability, 
O  !  the  enormity,  the  enormous  enormity  of  his 

badness. 

My  harness,  who  hath  deftly  extracted  it  ? 
My  sad,  unbridled  steed. 

Slow  police,  slumbering  locust  men,  I  damn  thee. 
Poor,  traceless  charger. 
Uncollared  horse,  uncollared  thief. 


WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY,     189 

Poor  unbitted  equine  ;  much  bitted  singer. 

I  moan,  I  sing  my  own  meanness  in  husky  tones. 

My  carriage  is  bent  with  grief,  I  tire  with  weari 
ness. 

Ten  times  a  villain  he  who  crept  and  creeping 
stole  the  straps. 

Ye  indigo  set,  ye  fallen  stars  of  peace,  less 
hubbub. 

Stirrup." 

The  above  was  said  to  have  been  writ 
ten  by  John  Paul  Bocock  or  Erastus 
Brainerd. 

A  friend  of  Mr.  Whitman's  wrote  the 
following  poem  on  the  supposed  loss  of 
harness.  It  was  published  in  the  Phila 
delphia  Press  of  September  23,  1885. 

A  CAMDEN  LYRIC. 

A  Poet's  Presumed  Lament  on  the  Theft  of  his  "  Harness,"  Sep 
tember  21, 1885.    Not  by  Walt  Whitman. 

No  more  our  steed  we'll  drive  apace, 

Our  harness  it  has  left  us, 
Through  Camden  town  afoot  we'll  trudge, 

Because  a  thief  bereft  us. 

Farewell,  oh  !  contemplated  joys  ! 

O'er  roads  both  smooth  and  stony, 
O'er  quiet  drives  down  moonlit  lanes 

Behind  the  sorrel  pony. 


190  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

My  age  precludes,  his  size  prevents, 

For  riding  he's  too  puggy  ; 
Come  back,  oh,  gentle  Jersey  thief, 

And  get  the  horse  and  buggy. 

When  Peter  asks  thee  of  thy  crimes, 

You  answer  not  with  clearness, 
Shrieking  fiends  with  shame  will  yell  : 

"He  stole  a  poet's  harness." 

Then  back  from  heaven's  gilded  walls, 
With  mighty  force  you'll  "go  it," 

While  hades  will  grasp  with  greedy  maw 
The  thief  who  robbed  the  poet. 

October  9,  1885,  he  wrote  to  a  friend 
in  Philadelphia  : 

328  MICKLE  STREET, 
CAMDEN,  October  9,  1885. 
DEAR  T.  D.  : 

Yours  received  with  L.  B.'s  check  and  the  ferry 
pass.*  Many  and  best  thanks.  I  will  come  over 
and  see  you  all  soon.  I  am  in  good  spirits  and 
somewhat  better,  but  fearfully  lame  and  disabled 
yet.  Go  out  with  the  horse  and  buggy  each 
afternoon. 


*The  reference  to  ferry  pass  above  was  an  annual 
pass  from  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad  Company  over  the 
Camden  and  Philadelphia  ferry  for  Mr.  Whitman  and 
his  horse  and  buggy,  sent  by  Mr.  E.  T.  Postlethwaite. 


WHITMAN'S  HOUSE  AND  BUGGY.     191 
In  1886  he  wrote  to  the  same  friend : 

CAMDEN,  N.  J.,  September  15,  1886. 

As  I  sit  here  by  the  open  window,  this  cloudy 
warm  forenoon,  I  feel  that  I  would  just  like  to 
write  a  line  (quite  purposeless,  no  doubt),  sending 
my  love  and  thanks  to  you  and  yours.  Do  you 
know  this  is  the  anniversary  day  of  my  receiving 
the  present,  through  you,  of  the  horse  and  wagon  ? 
And  much  good  has  it  done  to  me.  I  remain  in 
health  much  as  usual  of  late.  Shall  come  over 
and  spend  a  couple  of  hours  with  you  soon.  Shall 
send  you  a  postal,  day  before. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

Shall  get  the  tintype  of  horse  and  wagon,  etc. , 
for  you  first  opportunity. 

One  day  after  Mr.  Whitman  had 
owned  "Frank,"  the  pony,  about  two 
months,  I  was  in  Camden  and  the  pony 
and  buggy  were  driven  to  Mr.  Whitman's 
door.  The  pony  showed  the  effects  of 
Mr.  Whitman's  fast  driving  and  had  a 
shake  to  his  forelegs — or  rather  a 
tremble,  that  gave  the  impression  that  he 
was  getting  ready  to  lie  down.  It  was  a 
clear  case  of  vigorous  driving.  I  looked 
at  the  pony  and  then  at  Mr.  Whitman, 
who  was  slowly  pushing  himself  along  in 


1.92  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

a  trembling  manner  with  his  cane,  and 
remarked,  4tAh,  even  the  pony  trembles 
and  shakes  at  the  approach  of  the  great 
poet."  "  Yes,  yes,  indeed,"  he  replied, 
"and  please  notice  at  the  same  time  that 
the  great  poet  trembles  and  shakes  as 
he  approaches  the  pony  !  Mutual  ad 
miration  society,  eh  ? " 

Some  weeks  after  this  I  was  again  in 
Camden,  and  while  on  the  main  street, 
saw  a  cloud  of  dust  rising  from  a  fast 
approaching  vehicle.  In  a  moment  a 
splendid  bay  horse,  attached  to  a  buggy, 
came  in  view.  He  was  coming  at  a  mile 
in  three  minutes  gait ;  and,  to  my  amaze 
ment,  in  the  buggy  was  Walt  Whitman, 
holding  on  to  the  lines  with  one  hand  for 
dear  life.  When  he  observed  me,  he 
drew  up  with  difficulty  and  called  out, 
"Hello,  Tom;  aint  he  splendid?"  My 
breath  was  about  gone.  I  managed  to 
speak,  "Mr.  Whitman,  in  the  name  of 
common  sense,  what's  come  over  you  ? 
Where's  Frank?"  (the  sorrel  pony  we 
had  presented  him).  "  Sold  ;  I  sold  him. 
He  was  groggy  in  the  knees  and  too  slow. 
Did  you  want  a  pair  of  cripples  to  drive 


WHITMAN'S  HORSE  AND  BUGGY.     193 

out — Frank  and  myself?  This  horse  is 
a  goer  and  delights  me  with  his  motion." 
"  Certainly,  but  he  will  dump  you  in  a 
ditch  some  day,  and  that  will  end  you." 
"  All  right,"  was  his  cheery  speech,  as 
he  drove  away.  "  He  won't  have  to  do  it 
but  once,  and  that's  an  end  of  things." 
He  had  with  him  Bill  Ducket,  who  at 
times  assisted  him  on  the  lines. 

The  horse  and  buggy  were  sold  in  1888 
by  Mr.  Whitman  after  he  had  become  too 
infirm  to  move  about  unaided.  They  had 
been  a  source  of  infinite  joy  and  comfort 
to  him  and  aided  him  to  pass  three  years 
of  an  invalid's  life  in  comparative  ease. 
Scores  of  times  he  expressed  his  grati 
tude  for  the  gift,  as  it  gave  him  touches 
of  life  and  air  and  scenery  otherwise  im 
possible. 


CHAPTER  X. 

MB.  WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS  AND  CORRE 
SPONDENTS,  1872-92. 

Mr.  Whitman's  Catholicity  in  Friendship— Names  of  Some  of  His 
Friends —Modest — Jamaica  Ruin  and  Milk  Punch — As  the  Stage 
and  Car  Drivers'  Friend  and  Nurse — His  Experience  in  New 
York  Hospitals— His  Account  of  Pfaff's  Cafe,  or  Restaurant, 
1850  to  1869,  "  Bohemia"— His  Correspondents— Great  Men 
and  Authors  Who  Were  Affected  Favorably  by  His  Works- 
Letters  from  E.  C.  Stedman  and  Richard  Watson  Gilder— Two 
of  His  Poems  in  Pro  verbal  Translations  by  Wm.  Charles  Bona 
parte  Wyse— Letters  from  and  to  Alfred  Tennyson— Letter  from 
a  Young  Lady,  Describing  a  Visit  to  Tennyson  in  1885— Letters 
from  Frederick  Locker  [Lampson]— Letters  from  Mrs.  Elisa 
Seaman  Leggett. 

MR.  WHITMAN  had  personal  friends 
in  almost  all  portions  of  the  United 
States.  His  English  friends  were  legion. 
Friends  who  held  on  to  him  with  hooks 
of  steel.  The  Rossettis  and  Edwin  Dow- 
den— and  what  friends  they  were !  A 
partial  list  of  them  is  given  on  pages  28 
and  29. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  catholic  in  his  friend 
ships.  If  the  person  suited  him,  his  rank 
and  station  were  incidents.  Stage  driver, 

194 


KAC-SIMII.E  OF  A  I,ETTBR  BY  TENNYSON  TO  MR.  WHITMAN. 


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ME.  WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  195 

car  driver,  millionaire,  or  impecunious 
scholar,  or  the  reverse,  it  made  no  differ 
ence  to  him.  It  was  the  man  within  the 
case  that  attracted  him. 

He  lived  such  a  long  time  that  he  had 
an  army  of  friends.  When  death  opened 
the  rank  another  succeeded  and  filled  the 
gap.  When  Mr.  Whitman  grew  old  and 
worn  he  became  an  exception  to  the  fact 
that  age,  as  a  rule,  unless  possessed  of 
wealth  and  something  to  give,  is  seldom 
attractive.  He  had  no  wealth.  He  had, 
in  a  material  sense,  nothing  to  give,  and 
so  no  leeching  and  expectant  relatives  or 
others  hung  about  him,  hungry  for  his 
death.  Even  when  he  became  crippled 
and  stricken,  many  of  the  stanchest 
friends  he  had  came  to  him.  He  never 
solicited  them  :  some  persons  attached 
themselves  to  him  as  a  fad ;  others  be 
cause  he  was  a  noted  man  ;  some  because 
he  was  persecuted  ;  others  because  they 
wished  to  be  known  as  a  poet's  friend 
and  to  know  a  poet ;  many  because  they 
knew  his  worth. 

Essentially  a  modest  man  in  respect  to 
making  acquaintances,  he  sought  no  man. 


196          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

George  W.  Childs  of  Philadelphia  he  re 
vered,  both  for  his  manhood  and  goodness 
of  heart,  and  because  Mr.  Childs  sought 
an  old  and  worn  man  out.  He  said  of 
him,  in  his  note  on  a  trip  on  the  steamer 
Plymouth  Rock  to  Long  Branch,  July 
28,  1881  (Specimen  Days  and  Collect., 
p.  186) : 

"  In  all  directions  costly  villas,  palaces, 
millionaires ;  but  few  among  them,  I 
opine,  like  my  friend  George  W.  Childs, 
whose  personal  integrity,  generosity,  un 
affected  simplicity,  go  beyond  all  worldly 
wealth." 

Mr.  Childs,  when  Mr.  Whitman  came  to 
Camden  to  live,  in  1873,  a  physical  wreck, 
sought  him  out,  and  to  the  day  of  Mr. 
Whitman's  death  was  his  sincere  friend. 
I  know  this,  for  sometimes  I  was  the 
almoner  for  Mr.  Childs.  Mr.  Whitman 
was  once  or  twice  so  greatly  impressed 
with  men's  acts  that  he  avoided  the  man 
himself,  so  that  his  idol  might  not  be 
found  to  have  any  stains  upon  it.  The 
case  of  Mr.  Lincoln  is  an  apt  illustration. 
Mr.  Whitman  used  to  see  him  at  a  dis 
tance,  watch  for  him,  go  to  his  receptions, 


ME.   WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  197 

and  stand  off  and  admire  him.  When 
Mr.  Lincoln  made  a  public  address  Mr. 
Whitman  was,  when  possible,  in  the 
audience  and  close  up  to  the  speaker. 
Yet,  when  he  took  Mr.  Lincoln  by  the 
hand,  he  gave  it  a  grasp  and  spoke  no 
words  beyond  "Howdy?"  and  he  never 
conversed  with  Mr.  Lincoln.  A  conversa 
tion  between  the  two,  authentically  re 
ported,  would  be  of  value.  He  considered 
Mr.  Lincoln  the  greatest  civic  product  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  race  in  the  century. 

Of  his  early  friends  in  Camden,  one  in 
particular  deserves  more  than  a  passing 
notice.  When  Mr.  Whitman  went  to 
Camden  to  live,  in  1873,  Colonel  James 
M.  Scovel  at  once  proffered  him  atten 
tions  which  were  gratefully  received,  and 
he  remained  his  steadfast  friend  to  the 
end.  Colonel  Scovel' s  purse  and  house 
were  then  at  Mr.  Whitman's  disposal, 
and  when  he  badly  needed  friends,  I 
know  that  Mr.  Whitman  fully  and  grate 
fully  accepted  Colonel  Scovel' s  friendship 
and  courtesies. 

Mr.  Whitman  had  some  very  disinter 
ested  friends  in  New  York  City.  One  of 


198          WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

the  oldest,  truest,  and  most  faithful  was 
James  Redpath, — and  what  a  friend  he 
was  to  Mr.  Whitman !-- -Mr.  Redpath  in 
Boston  or  New  York,  as  editor  of  the 
North  American  Review  or  otherwise, 
was  always  true  ; — Mr.  J.  H.  Johnston,  a 
valued  one ;  R.  W.  Gilder,  of  the 
Century,  a  tried  and  a  true  one  ;  Colonel 
Robert  Gf.  Ingersoll,  a  friend  with  all 
of  his  splendid  nature  ;  E.  C.  Stedman, 
the  poet,  and  Moncure  D.  Conway,  the 
author.  Mr.  Julius  Chambers,  of  the 
New  York  Herald,  was  a  substantial 
friend  and  carried  Mr.  Whitman  on  the 
weekly  pay-roll  of  the  Herald  for  a  long 
time.  Mr.  Whitelaw  Reid,  of  the  Trib 
une,  befriended  him,  and  generously. 
Mr.  Charles  A.  Dana,  of  the  Sun,  was  an 
old  friend  and  admirer  and  whom  Mr. 
Whitman  considered  the  highest  type  of 
the  American.  The  Critic,  New  York, 
accepted  and  published  much  of  his  work. 
The  Church  brothers,  Colonel  William  C. 
and  Frank  P.,  editors  of  the  Galaxy, 
were  his  constant  friends  and  publishers. 
I  only  mention  a  few  of  the  many  to 
whom  Mr.  Whitman  called  attention. 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  199 

Mr.  Whitman  appreciated  attentions 
and  remembrances. 

He  often  received  presents  from  friends. 
He  was  gratified,  no  matter  what  the 
object.  The  value  was  the  last  thing  he 
considered.  He  reciprocated  with  books, 
portraits,  autographs,  and  manuscripts. 
I  recall  the  pride  with  which  he  showed 
me  an  old-fashioned  jug  containing 
Jamaica  rum.  He  kept  this  in  his  bed 
room  and  handled  it  as  affectionately 
as  if  it  were  a  child.  He  used  to  reach 
for  it  and  say:  "Come  here,  my  fellow- 
poet."  "  What,"  I  asked  one  day  ;  "is 
that  your  source  of  inspiration?"  "No, 
no ;  it's  a  jug  of  Jamaica  rum  Edmund 
Clarence  Stedman,  the  poet,  sent  me 
from  the  West  Indies  a  time  ago.  I  use 
it  with  care  and  taste  it  with  venera 
tion.  You  don't  know  it,  perhaps,  but  I 
am  an  expert  in  milk  punches.  Have 
one?  No?  Well,  then,  the  more  for 
your  uncle.  Making  milk  punch  is  not 
a  lost  art,  but  one  now  seldom  correctly 
practiced.  Rum  makes  the  best  of  all 
milk  punches.  I  use  one  sometimes  once 
a  week  ;  sometimes  once  a  day." 


200          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

In  Philadelphia,  Mr.  George  W. 
Childs,  Mr.  George  H.  Boker,  Horace 
Howard  Furness,  Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell, 
Mrs.  Bloomfield  H.  Moore,  Dr.  Daniel 
Brinton,  and  many  more,  were  his  con 
stant  friends. 

I  do  not  mention  his  Camden  friends, 
because  pages  would  not  hold  them,  but 
I,  in  common  with  all  of  Mr.  Whitman's 
friends  residing  outside  of  Camden,  hold 
them  and  their  ministerings  for  him 
sacred. 

I  think,  as  I  have  stated,  that  Mr. 
Whitman  was  sometimes  disappointing 
as  a  guest.  In  certain  latitudes  he  soon 
ceased  to  be  a  fad.  He  was  too  ponder 
ous,  too  heavy.  He  did  not  respond 
quickly  enough  to  certain  mental  views 
of  his  host  or  his  host's  friends.  He  got 
into  action  too  slowly.  His  gun  did  not 
shoot  quick  enough.  The  trigger  of  his 
mind  was  not  set  on  a  hair  spring,  and, 
besides,  he  did  not  talk  oracularly  to  the 
limited  few.  He  spoke  best  with  his  pen 
and  after  mature  thought.  As  I  have 
written,  he  was  not  a  ready  society  talker. 
At  a  gathering  he  was  recognized  as  a 


MR,    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  201 

dignitary,  of  course,  but  not  as  an  all- 
around  hand  at  a  talk,  song,  or  recitation. 
To  the  few  whom  he  liked  and  who  liked 
him  he  always  was  the  best  of  guests  and 
most  charming  of  friends. 

This  staid  man  had  lived  in  "Bohemia." 
I  have  frequently  in  the  past  twenty  years 
met  some  of  the  Bohemians  of  New  York 
City  and  Brooklyn  who  were  active  in 
newspaper,  legal,  dramatic,  or  literary 
work  in  Mr.  Whitman's  metropolitan 
days.  They  all  accorded  him  a  distinct 
personality — one  not  to  be  seen  again. 

I  often  heard  him  speak  of  his  early 
Brooklyn  and  New  York  friends.  I  had 
him  describe  to  me  many  times  events 
and  incidents  of  Pfaff's  restaurant  or 
cafe  in  a  cellar  on  Broadway  near 
Bleecker  Street,  west  side,  where  the 
"  Bohemians"  were  wont  to  resort  in  the 
fifties  and  sixties.  Mr.  Whitman,  in  the  , 
fifties  and  up  to  1862,  was  a  frequent 
visitor  to  Pfaff's,  and  during  the  hours 
when  the  brightest  lights  of  Bohemia 
were  guests.  His  Bohemia,  with  his  en- 
joyment  of  life  and  nature,  was  all  the 
time;  and  while,  from  his  slow  speech  arid 


202  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

a  lack  of  expression  of  humor  or  wit,  he 
must  have  seemed  a  dull  companion  at 
Pfaff's,  he  enjoyed  the  company  and  as 
sociation  greatly.  He  soon  became  a  fig 
ure  at  Pfaff's,  and  was  asked  for  and 
remarked  upon.  His  free-and-easy  ap 
pearance,  his  open  shirt  and  swaggery 
walk,  naturally  attracted  people  to  him. 

Mr.  Whitman,  for  many  years  prior  to 
1862,  had  been  a  noticeable  figure  in  New 
York  or  Brooklyn  as  an  outside  stage  or 
omnibus  rider,  and  always,  no  matter  what 
kind  of  weather,  by  the  driver's  side  (omni 
buses  did  not  leave  Broadway,  New  York, 
until  about  1881);  so  he  was  a  familiar  fig 
ure,  and  was  pointed  out  as  the  author  of 
' 'Leaves  of  Grass."  Mr.  Whitman's  love 
of  nature  and  out-of-door  life,  and  the  mov 
ing  panorama  on  a  crowded  thoroughfare, 
would  naturally  suggest  to  him  an  outside 
seat  with  a  stage  driver.  I  chatted  with 
him  about  this  odd  fancy.  "  I  suppose," 
he  replied,  "my  liking  for  and  associa 
tion  with  stage  drivers,  car  drivers  (Pete 
Doyle,  my  friend,  was  a  car  driver),  and 
boat  hands  attracted  and  attracts  atten 
tion  and  produces  inquiries.  Stage  driv- 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  203 

ers  were,  as  a  rule,  strong  men  mentally 
as  well  as  physically.  Some  were  edu 
cated,  some  not ;  but  those  who  were 
competent  to  drive  a  stage  for  a  length  of 
time  on  such  a  street  as  Broadway,  New 
York,  for  instance,  were  men  of  character 
and  individuality.  It  took  much  skill  to 
tool  a  bus  or  stage  on  Broadway.  Usually 
they  were  intelligent  and  up  with  current 
gossip  and  news,  and  were  rugged  types. 
Persons  who  sat  by  them  on  the  box 
chatted  with  them,  gave  them  money, 
cigars,  clothes,  theater  and  opera  tickets, 
and  favored  them  in  many  ways.  They 
became  familiar  with  public  men,  and 
were  local  historians.  Many  of  them  had 
learned  to  think,  and  could  express  them 
selves  with  vigor  and  ability.  I  liked  an 
open-air  life,  and  while  I  rode  with  these 
men  and  listened  to  their  talk,  I  could 
reflect,  observe,  and- absorb.  I  rode  with 
them  in  all  weathers,  fair  or  foul,  and 
this  made  them  like  me.  When  they 
were  injured  or  sick,  I  used  to  go  to  see 
them  at  their  homes  or  in  the  hospitals. 
I  found  them  generous,  frank,  and 
friendly.  Some  of  them  used  to  keep  an 


204          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

extra  cushion  to  put  on  my  seat  when  I 
got  on  top.  Others  would  do  me  some 
little  kindness.  The  passengers  on  the 
buses,  or  stages  they  were  called,  used  to 
push  their  fare  up  through  a  round  hole 
in  the  front  of  the  stage  top.  The  driver 
would  take  it  and  hand  back  the  change, 
if  any  was  required;  but  in  later  days  the 
stage  company  put  the  change  in  small 
paper  envelopes.  When  the  bell  would 
ring  I  used  to  reach  around  and  collect 
the  fare.  The  passengers  rang  the  bell. 
Oh,  I  was  famous  for  this !  The  driver 
was  much  aided  by  this  collecting,  espe 
cially  in  wet  or  cold  weather.  I  obtained 
much  knowledge  from  these  men,  and 
learned  to  have  a  sympathy  for  them. 
Sometimes  they  were  injured.  As  soon 
as  I  missed  one  I  inquired  for  him,  and, 
when  injured,  I  went  at  once  to  him.  In 
those  days  there  were  not  many  public 
hospitals  in  New  York  City  or  Brooklyn. 
In  New  York  one  of  the  chief  hospitals 
was  the  New  York  Hospital.  I  used  to 
go  there  frequently  to  see  my  injured 
stage-driver  friends,  and  was  always  well 
received.  The  house  doctors  or  surgeons 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  205 

were,  as  a  rule,  young  men,  and  were 
kindly  and  sympathetic.  I  soon  got  in 
with  them.  We  used  to  chat  at  odd 
times.  They  used  to  let  me  sit  beside  my 
injured  friends  on  the  beds  or  cots,  and 
gave  me  information  at  all  times.  I 
would  travel  about  at  times  with  some  of 
these  young  surgeons,  and  take  them  to 
Pfaff's  or  some  other  convenient  place  for 
mild  refreshment.  They  were  a  jolly  set, 
and  used  to  try  to  pump  me  as  to  why  I 
liked  stage  drivers.  I  suppose  the  real 
reason  was  that  the  poor  devils  had  such 
a  hard  life  of  it  in  all  weathers  that  my 
heart  went  out  to  them,  and  besides 
I  learned  much  from  them.  They  were 
poorly  paid  and  hard  workers.  I  knew 
about  all  of  their  names  on  the  Broadway 
stages  in  1859-62.  You  will  find  that  I 
give  some  of  their  names  on  p.  18  of 
'Specimen  Days  and  Collect.'  Jacob 
Sharp,  afterward  the  famous  'Jake' 
Sharp  of  Tammany  surface-road  fame,  was 
a  Broadway  stage  owner.  I  suppose  that 
I  learned  to  nurse  suffering  humanity  and 
not  to  be  afraid  of  blood,  wounds,  or 
manifestations  of  pain  by  nursing  the 


206  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

sick  or  injured  stage  drivers.  Yes,  I  can 
recall  the  names  of  some  of  the  doctors 
about  the  New  York  Hospital.  One  was 
Flint,  one  McDonald— may  be  Dunlap. 
I  am  not  sure  as  to  this  one.  '  Doc '  was 
the  usual  name  for  them.  There  were  a 
good  many  different  ones  in  the  years  I 
used  to  go  there.  They  were  learning  their 
trade  then.  There  was  also  a  sprightly 
young  doctor  about  there,  a  sort  of  a 
wheel  horse — he  was  always  in  demand. 
St.  John  or  St.  James  Roosa ;  the  other 
doctors  used  to  say,  l  Where's  the  saint  ? ' 
He  was  an  awfully  clever  and  a  handy 
man.  I  guess  that  they  are  all  dead  now. 
Some  of  them  reached  eminence  and  were 
useful  to  their  fellow-men.  This  out-of- 
door  life  of  mine  kind  of  advertised  me — 
at  least  I  became  a  familiar  figure,  but  I 
never  had  any  such  intention  or  purpose. 
I  enjoyed  it  and  never  thought  of  any 
thing  else  in  connection  with  it 

"  Pfaff's  I  visited  for  years  (sometimes 
I  took  one  of  the  stage  drivers  along  with 
me),  and  after  skipping  1862  to  1864-65, 
and  then  to  1881,  I  visited  it  once  again 
in  August,  1881.  It  was  not  the  old 


ME.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  207 

Pfaff's.  It  was  a  new  one  on  Twenty- 
fourth  Street — Pfaff,  the  prince  of  hosts, 
was  there,  however,  and  opened  a  bottle 
of  rare  wine  as  a  welcome  on  my  in 
coming.* 

*  Mr.  Whitman  thus  notes  his  last  visit  to  Pfaff's  : 
"August  16,  1881.— 'Chalk  a  big  mark  for  to-day,' 
was  one  of  the  sayings  of  an  old  sportsman  friend  of 
mine,  when  he  had  had  unusually  good  luck— come  home 
thoroughly  tired,  but  with  satisfactory  results  of  fish  or 
birds.  Well,  to-day  might  warrant  such  a  mark  for 
me.  Everything  propitious  from  the  start.  An  hour's 
fresh  stimulation,  coming  down  ten  miles  of  Manhattan 
Island  by  railroad  and  eight  o'clock  stage.  Then  an  ex 
cellent  breakfast  at  Pfaff's  restaurant,  Twenty-fourth 
Street.  Our  host  himself,  an  old  friend  of  mine,  quickly 
appear'd  on  the  scene  to  welcome  me  and  bring  up  the 
news,  and,  first  opening  a  big  fat  bottle  of  the  best 
wine  in  the  cellar,  talk  about  ante-bellum  times,  '59 
and  '60,  and  the  jovial  suppers  at  his  then  Broadway 
place,  near  Bleecker  Street.  Ah,  the  friends  and  names 
and  frequenters,  those  times,  that  place  !  Most  are  dead. 
.  .  And  there  Pfaff  and  I,  sitting  opposite  each  other 
at  the  little  table,  gave  a  remembrance  to  them  in 
a  style  they  would  have  themselves  fully  confirm'd, 
namely,  big,  brimming,  filled- up  champagne-glasses, 
drain'd  in  abstracted  silence,  very  leisurely,  to  the  last 
drop.  (Pfaff  is  a  generous  German  restaurateur;  silent, 
stout,  jolly,  and  I  should  say  the  best  selector  of  cham 
pagne  in  America.)" — Specimen  Days  and  Collect.,  p. 
188. 


208  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

"  At  the  old  Pfaff's  the  food  was  well 
cooked,  German  method,  and  cheap ;  the 
ale  (beer  was  but  coming  in  then)  good, 
and  other  liquid  refreshments  healthy. 
There  was  no  formality — 'Bohemia'  sat 
around  in  groups.  It  is  difficult  at  this 
distance  to  recall  all  who  dwelt  in  'Bo 
hemia'  at  Pfaff's  during  the  years  I 
knew  it.  In  fact,  a  portion  of  that  i  Bo 
hemia'  did  not  recognize  another  portion 
of  visitors  as  *  Bohemians.'.  Ifc  took  hard 
work  and  merit  to  have  full  membership. 
The  top  lights  recognized  themselves,  and 
made  a  bit  of  an  inside  clique  or  cabal.  I 
can  recall  John  Swinton,  Stoddard,  R.  H. 
Wilkins,  Fitzjames O'Brien,  Henry  Clapp, 
Oakey  Hall,  Stanley,  Mullin,  Wood,  John 
Brougham,  and  Arnold  among  the  leaders. 
Ada  Clare  and  Daisy  Sheppard  were 
among  the  women  of  'Bohemia.'  I  was 
very  friendly  with  Ada  Clare.  She  was 
brilliant,  bright,  and  handsome.  She  went 
on  the  stage,  I  think,  and  then  melted  out 
of  sight.  Pf  aft3'  s  ;  Bohemia '  was  never  re 
ported,  and  more  the  sorrow.  What  ~.vit, 
humor,  repartee,  word  wars,  and  some 
times  bad  blood  !  The  '  Count  Joannes ' — 


ME.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  209 

George  Jones,  the  actor — used  to  come 
there ;  and  an  able  man  he  was,  barring 
the '  Count. '  Many  actors  afterward  stars, 
but  then  in  the  great  stock  companies  of 
the  New  York  theaters,  were  frequent  vis 
itors.  I  can  recall  it  all  now,  and,  through 
a  vista  of  cigar  and  pipe  smoke  and  dim 
gaslight,  see  the  scores  of  kindly  faces 
peering  at  me,  some  in  love,  some  in  ques 
tion,  but  all  friendly  enough  ;  for,  while 
*  Bohemia'  might  differ  as  to  a  man's  work 
or  its  results,  she  usually,  once  he  was 
in,  accepted  the  man,  idiosyncrasies  and 
all.  'Bohemia'  comes  but  once  in  one's 
life.  Let's  treasure  even  its  memory." 

Many  of  the  Pfaff  Bohemians  gave  Mr. 
Whitman  hearty  friendship  in  the  years 
that  followed  sixty. 

Wm.  Sloane  Kennedy  of  Boston,  John 
Boyle  O'Reilly,  John  Burroughs,  and 
dear  old  Dr.  Maurice  Bucke  of  Canada, 
Wm.  O'Connor, — but  why  mention  more  ? 
Offense  may  follow  (although  none  is 
intended)  the  calling  out  of  a  few  only  of 
the  many  friends  of  Mr.  Whitman  in 
America.  Henry  Irving,  now  Sir  Henry, 
whose  generosity  knows  no  latitude, 


210          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN-. 

considered  it  a  duty,  when  he  thought 
the  old  poet  might  be  in  need,  to  drop 
me  a  substantial  reminder  for  him  ;  and 
Bram  Stoker,  born  Abraham,  and  who 
should  still  be  Abraham,  because  of  man 
hood  and  breadth  of  humanity,  sent  a 
mite  along  with  his  chief.  At  times 
many  earnest  persons  became  suddenly 
aroused  to  the  opinion,  and  acted  on  it, 
that  Walt  Whitman  was  in  need.  They 
would  call  upon  Mr.  Childs,  Mr.  Furness, 
or  George  H.  Boker,  who  would  reply: 
u  Go  to  Mr.  Donaldson,  he  usually  in 
forms  us  when  anything  is  needed  for 
Mr.  Whitman."  Thus  several  well  in 
tending  good  people  were  disposed  of 
in  the  ten  years  prior  to  Mr,  Whitman's 
death.  And  in  fact,  I  stood  between  them 
and  several  well-meaning  persons  in  this 
matter.  Several  times  I  called  on  Mr. 
George  W.  Childs,  Mr.  Horace  Howard 
Furness,  Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell,  Hon. 
George  H.  Boker,  and  others,  and  never 
in  vain.  Always  prompt  and  ready 
answers  were  received.  No  person  but 
one  who  has  approached  Mr.  George  W. 
Childs  for  such  purposes,  can  understand 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  211 

the  nobleness  of  his  nature  and  the  in 
comparable  manliness  of  his  charity.  No 
other  city  in  the  Union  contained  such  a 
citizen,  and  his  loss  has  never  been  made 
up  in  Philadelphia. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  shrewd  and  carefully 
watched  and  weighed  men's  motives. 
He  quickly  noted  the  disinterested  friend 
from  the  notoriety  hunter,  who  made  up 
to  him  for  the  purpose  of  being  known  as 
'Whitman's  friend."  Many  times,  in 
chat,  he  would  indicate  such  to  me,  and 
chuckle  in  his  quiet  way,  "  Well,  well; 
they  think  your  uncle  is  old  and  feeble 
and  that  his  wit  does  not  perceive. 
Maybe  not,  maybe  not ;  but  that  fellow's 
a  job-lot."  He  cordially  avoided  effemi 
nate  men  or  mannish  women. 

There  was  latterly  one  devoted  friend 
of  Mr.  Whitman's  who  would  have  prob 
ably  annoyed  other  men  by  his  excess  of 
friendly  care.  Still,  he  was  earnest  and 
sincere,  and  true  at  every  turn  of  the 
lane  in  Mr.  Whitman's  last  ten  years  of 
life.  He  was  quick  in  manner,  but  it  was 
the  man's  habit,  and  the  quickness  was 
kindness  and  always  well  meant.  I  do 


212  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

not  know  whether  he  is  living  or  not. 
He  resided  on  Arch  Street,  Philadelphia. 
I  know  that  Mr.  Whitman  appreciated 
him  and  his  lovely  family.  I  recall  one 
day  (I  had  never  met  this  gentleman)  that 
I  went  to  the  box  window  of  the  Chestnut 
Street  Opera  House,  Philadelphia,  to  get 
tickets  for  a  performance  My  friend, 
Mr.  John  F.  Zimmerman,  the  proprietor, 
happened  to  be  in  the  office  He  called 
me  in.  While  inside,  a  gentleman  came 
rapidly  to  the  window  and  said  he 
wanted  seats  for  the  performance  of 
"Francesca  de  Rimini,"  by  Lawrence 
Barrett,  then  on.  He  paid  for  the  seats, 
remarking,  "  I  wan  ted  them  well  down, 
as  they  are  for  Walt  "Whitman,  who 
wants  to  see  the  performance" 
"  Who?"  said  Mr.  Zimmerman,  "Walt 
Whitman  ?  You  take  back  the  money, 
please.  He  does  not  have  to  pay  in  my 
theater.  Here  is  Mr.  Donaldson,  a 
friend  of  his."  I  walked  out  and  met 
the  gentleman,  then  sixty  or  more  years  of 
age,  a  loyal  and  earnest  friend,  and  who 
was  always  assisting  Mr.  Whitman,  and 
honestly  seeing  to  his  comfort.  He 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  213 

gave  Mr.  Whitman  the  large  brass  lamp 
which  stood  in  the  bit  of  a  parlor  in 
Mickle  Street,  but  I  never  saw  it  lighted. 
-  One  of  Mr.  Whitman's  stanchest 
friends  and  admirers  was  Edmund  Clar 
ence  Stedman,  whose  name  is  the  syno 
nym  for  elegance,  purity  of  mind,  and 
thorough  cultivation,  and  the  possession 
of  the  grace  of  harmonious  and  eupho 
nious  poetic  diction.  Mr.  Whitman,  the 
4 'Poet  of  Nature,"  by  his  work— so 
strong  and  emphatic— made  this  gentle 
and  pure  nature  a  positive  admirer.  If 
Mr  Whitman  was  out  of  tune  with  nature 
and  self-rejected  in  the  lists  in  poetic 
tilting,  how  can  such  respect  and  admira 
tion  as  that  of  Mr.  Stedman  be  accounted 
for?  Or  is  Mr.  Stedman  gifted  with 
others  in  seeing  the  gold  through  the  foil  ? 
Considering  the  letter  that  follows,  Mr. 
Whitman  would  have  had  fair  ground 
to  stand  on  had  he  chosen  to  climb  even 
a  little  way  up  the  side  of  Mount  Ego  : 

NEW  YORK  CITY,  June  8,  1875. 
MY  DEA.R  WHITMAN  : 

During  ray  wanderings  in  the  tropics,  with  my 
nervous  system  feeling  like  a  mixed-up  mess  of 


214          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

broken  fiddle  strings,  I've  often  thought  of  you— 
and  wondered  if  all  poets  have  got  to  pay  such 
tribute  to  mortality.  I  am  not  given  to  autograph 
collecting,  but  Linton  has  sent  me  a  proof  copy 
of  his  admirable  engraving  of  your  head  and 
shoulders,  and  I  would  very  much  like  to  have 
one  of  your  MSS.  to  place  beside  it.  Haven't  you 
got  one  scrap  of  paper,  which  you  can  spare,  con 
taining  a  few  lines  of  your  own  work?  And,  if 
so,  won't  you  give  it  me  ?  I  am  one  of  those 
American  writers  who  always  look  upon  you  as 
a  noble,  original,  and  characteristic  poet ;  and 
perhaps,  in  your  retirement,  it  may  not  seem  un 
gracious  or  officious  for  me  to  tell  you  so.  When 
I  was  a  boy,  I  read  extracts  from  your  first  book, 
in  a  Putnam's  Magazine  review,  the  "Little 
Captain"  and  the  "Crushed  Fireman."  They 
greatly  impressed  me,  and  I  have  read  all  you 
have  written  since. 

Swinburne,  in  his  letters  to  me,  always  speaks 
carefully  and  understandingly  of  you.  I  hope 
that  your  body  will  be  soon  as  healthy  as  your  dis 
position  always  was  and  is,  and  wish  that  any 
part  of  myself  were  as  healthy  as  either.  Believe 
me, 

Truly  yours, 

EDMUND  C.  STEDMAN. 

In  out-of-the-way  and  interesting  parts 
of  Europe  one  frequently  falls  in  with 
ardent  admirers  of  Mr.  Whitman.  Friends 


MR.  WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  215 

abroad,  meeting  such,  would  write  Mr. 
Whitman,  and  thus  some  interesting 
acquaintances  by  correspondence  were 
formed.  Mr.  Richard  Watson  Gilder, 
while  abroad  in  1879,  wrote  Mr.  Whit 
man  as  to  an  ardent  admirer  of  his  found 
in  Avignon,  France,  and  inclosed  auto 
graph  translations  of  some  of  Mr.  Whit 
man's  verses  by  this  admirer. 


SHANKLIN,  ISLE  OF  WIGHT, 

ENGLAND,  October  1,  1879. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  WHITMAN  : 

Last  spring  I  happened  upon  a  nest  of  poets  at 
Avignon— Provengal  poets— successors  of  the  old 
troubadours — among  them  Wm.  Charles  Bona 
parte  Wyse,  a  descendant  of  Lucien  Bonaparte  and 
the  son  of  an  Irishman.  He  went  to  the  south  of 
France  from  Ireland,  some  twenty-five  years  ago, 
and  was  so  charmed  with  the  poets  there  that  he 
learned  the  Provengal  language  and  became  one 
of  them.  He  spends  a  part  of  every  year  there. 
He  is  a  gentleman,  a  scholar,  and  a  poet ;  also  a 
good  judge  of  poetry.  Well,  he  is  one  of  your 
warmest  friends  and  appreciators,  and  has  sent  by 
me  all  sorts  of  messages  to  you.  As  I  am  not  to 
return  till  spring,  I  send  them  by  mail.  Last 
April  we  dined  with  him  at  the  inn  of  La  Cheve- 
lure  d'Or,  at  the  ancient,  ruined,  and  almost 


216       WALT  WHITMAN;  THE  MAN. 

deserted  city  of  Les  Baux  on  the  top  of  a  moun 
tain  near  Aries.  This  inn,  by  the  way,  was  named 
by  Mr.  Wyse  after  a  magnificent  head  of  golden 
hair  found  in  an  old  tomb  at  Les  Baux,  which  he 
has  made  the  subject  of  a  Provencal  poem  and 
which  was  in  the  possession  of  the  landlord.  At 
this  dinner  Mr.  Wyse  proposed  and  we  all  drank, 
standing,  the  health  of  Walt  Whitman. 

I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  my  friend  in 
which  he  says : 

"I  inclose  you  my  promised  Provengal  trans 
lation  of  two  of  the  sweetest  bits  of  Manahatta's 
poet.  I  have  not  attempted  his  poetic  prose, 
which  is  not  to  be  imitated,  but  have  had  the 
audacity  to  compress,  Procrustes-wise,  his  touch 
ing  lines  into  the  stocks  of  my  verse.  Do,  I  beg 
of  you,  do  me  the  great  favor  to  present  them  to 
him,  in  my  name,  when  next  you  see  him.  Insig 
nificant  as  is  the  attention,  it  is  at  any  rate  a  straw 
which  will  show  which  way  the  wind  blows.  If 
ever  I  go  to  America,  I  assure  you  that  one  of  my 
first  visits  will  be  to  this  most  sympathetic  of  poets, 
for  whose  large  and  lofty  nature  my  admiration 
is  merged  into  love." 

No  one  has  written  to  me  about  the  lecture. 
How  did  it  succeed  ? 

Yours  very  truly, 

EICHARD  W.  GILDER. 


MR.  WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  217 

LA  RECOUNCILIACIOUN. 

(Imitadod'oupouUoamerican,  Walt  Whitman.) 

Mot  que  doumino  tout !  mot  mai  ben  que  1'azur ! 

Que  coungourto,  quent  ur 
De  sab6  que  la  guerro  e  soun  rouge  carnage 
Vai  s'envoula,  s'en  fan,  coume  un  esclat  d'aurage  ; 
Que  la  nine  et  la  Mort  (aquen  paren  divin !) 
La  von,  a  belli  man,  incessamen,  seus  fin, 

Noste  mounde  councha  per  1'aurage? 

Car  noste  enemi's  mort,  noun  mens  divin  que 

sien, 

E,  tendre  e  pensatieii, 
Garde  ount  lou  paure  jais,  blanquineu  come  un 

ile, 

Ounte  jais  blanquineu  dins  soun  cercuei  tranquile, 
L'approuche,  e  me  recourbe,  e  jougne  doucamen 
Mi  bouco  rouginello  au  carage  seren 

Au  carage  tant  blanc  e  tranquile ! 
—Leaves  of  Grass,  p.  295,  Washington,  1872. 


(Literal  Translation.) 

Word  which  dominates  all!  word  more  beautiful 

than  the  blue ! 
What  pleasure !  what  luck ! 
To  know  that  War  and  his  red  carnage 
Is  about  to  fly  off,  (as  it  ought  to  be,)  like  a  burst 

of  storm. 


218          WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

That  Night  and  Death  (that  divine  pair!) 

Wash,  with  nimble  hands,  incessantly,  without 

end, 
Our  world  stained  by  the  storm. 


For  mine   enemy's   dead,   no   less   divine   than 

myself, 

And  tenderly  and  pensively, 
I  look  where  the  poor  fellow  lies,  white  as  a  lily, — 
Where  he  lies  white,  quiet  in  his  coffin ; 
I  approach  him,  and  I  bend  down,  and  I  join 

gently 

My  ruddy  mouth  to  the  calm  face- 
To  the  face,  so  white  and  serene ! 


RECONCILIATION. 

Word  over  all,  beautiful  as  the  sky, 

Beautiful  that  war  and  all  its  deeds  of  carnage 
must  in  time  be  utterly  lost, 

That  the  hands  of  the  sisters  Death  and  Night  in 
cessantly  softly  wash  again,  and  ever  again, 
this  soil'd  world ; 

For  my  enemy  is  dead,  a  man  divine  as  myself  is 
dead. 

I  look  where  he  lies  white-faced  and  still  in  the 
coffin — I  draw  near, 

Bend  down,  and  touch  lightly  with  my  lips  the 
white  face  in  the  coffin. 
—  Walt  Whitman,  Leaves  of  Grass,  p.  250, 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  219 

LA  Musico. 

(Imitado  cT6u  poutto  american.  Wait  Whitman.) 

Un  matin  de  Dimenche,  eii  passant  doucamen 
Lou  pourt  au  de  la  gleiso,  ausere  urousamen 

Lou  bram  solemne  e  suan  d'uiio  ourgueno ; 
Au  calabrun,  ausere,  en  un  bos  souloumbrous, 
D'un  tendre  roussignon  lou  refrin  melicous, 

E  moun  amo  de  pas  ero  pleno ! 

.   .   .   Cor  de  ma  ben-amado !    Oh,  t'ausere  pereu 
A  traves  toun  pougnet,  cantant  encantdreu— 

Toun  pougnet  depausa  sout  ma  testo ; 
Toun  dous  pouls,  dins  la  niue,  quand  touto  ero 

seren, 
Coume  de  campaneto,  ausere  claramen 

Souto  moun  aurihoun  fasent  f esto ! 
—Leaves  of  Grass,  p.  119,  Washington,  1872. 

Music. 

One  Sunday  morning,  whilst  passing  quietly 
The  portal  of  the  church,  I  heard  by  lucky  chance 
The  solemn  and  calm  sound  of  an  organ ; 
In  the  twilight  of  evening,  I  heard  in  a  somber 

wood 

The  honeyed  refrain  of  a  tender  nightingale, 
And  my  soul  was  full  of  peace. 

.    .    .   Heart  of  my  well-beloved !    Oh,  I  heard  also 

thee 
Across  thy  wrist,  singing  enchantingly— 


220          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

Thy  wrist,  posed  beneath  my  head  ! 

Thy  sweet    pulse,  in  the   night,    when  all  was 

serene, 

Like  little  bells  I  heard  clearly 
Ringing  joyously  beneath  mine  ear ! 

I  HEARD  YOU,  SOLEMN-SWEET  PIPES  OF  THE 
ORGAN. 

I  heard  you,  solemn-sweet  pipes  of  the  organ  as 

last  Sunday  morn  I  pass'd  the  church, 
Winds  of  autumn,  as  I  walk'd  the  woods  at  dusk, 

I  heard  your  long-stretch'd  sighs  up  above  so 

mournful. 
I  heard  the  perfect  Italian  tenor  singing  at  the 

opera,  I  heard  the  soprano  in  the  midst  of  the 

quartet  singing. 
Heart  of  my  love  I  you  too  I  heard  murmuring  low 

through  one  of  the  wrists  around  my  head, 
Heard  the  pulse  of  you  when  all  was  still  ringing 

little  bells  last  night  under  my  ear. 
—  Walt  Whitman,  Leaves  of  Grass,  p.  94. 
WILLIAM  C.  BONAPARTE  WYSE. 

MANOR  OF  ST.  JOHN'S,  WATERFORD,  Auguet  11, 1879. 

While  there  was  always,  and  will  be, 
much  discussion  as  to  Mr.  Whitman's 
work  and  its  aims,  one  of  the  curious 
features  about  it  all  is  the  character  and 
kind  of  men  his  work  has  affected,  and 
favorably.  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  Tho- 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  221 

reau,  Alfred  Tennyson,  Frederick  Locker, 
John  Addington  Symonds,  Dante  Ga 
briel  Rossetti,  Wm.  Michael  Eossetti, 
Edward  Dowden,  Edmund  Clarence 
Stedman,  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  alone 
are  friends  enough  for  one  author  to 
have.  How  many  other  authors  would 
the  men  named  above  agree  upon  1  Mr. 
Whitman's  ''Leaves  of  Grass"  was 
well  before  the  public  in  1862  and  1863, 
when  Mr.  Emerson  showed  his  special 
friendship  for  him,  and  this  was  seven 
or  eight  years  after  Mr.  Emerson's 
letter  of  congratulations  to  Mr.  Whitman 
on  his  first  edition  of  "Leaves  of  Grass." 
Mr.  Whitman  visited  Mr.  Emerson  shortly 
before  his  death  and  considered  him,  and 
with  reasons,  a  friend. 

Considering  the  character  of  his  friends, 
male  and  female,  at  home  and  abroad, 
Mr.  Whitman  would  have  been  pardoned 
had  he  shown  vanity,  as  to  his  work 
and  himself.  As  I  have  more  than  once 
written  I  never  observed  any  vanity  in 
him  ;  not  even  a  shadow  of  it,  unless  it 
was  during  the  last  three  or  four  years  of 
his  life,  when  he  became  somewhat  oracu- 


222          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

lar  at  times,  and  after  disease  had  racked 
his  frame  and  may  have  aft'ected  his 
nerves,  and  so  at  times  his  brain.  He  was 
never  to  me  an  "important"  man.  There 
are  some  such  in  the  world  self-proclaimed 
or  so  called.  My  intercourse  with  these 
so-called  ''important"  personages,  and 
it  has  been  considerable,  forces  me  to 
know  that  they  are  largely  humbugs  in 
all  essentials.  "Ah,  he  is  an  important 
man  !  "  Perhaps  !  Inspect  him,  and  you 
will  ninety  times  out  of  a  hundred  find 
him  almost  all  label. 

Mr.  Whitman  never  claimed  to  be  im 
portant — not  at  all.  He  wanted  to  be 
useful,  and  he  was.  He  did  some  things 
unusual,  some  things  great,  many  things 
mediocre.  Mediocrity  manages  the  run 
ning  gear  of  the  world.  The  men  who 
are  always  great,  and  do  not  do  common 
things,  or  let  down,  are  few  and  rare.  In 
a  long  and  active  life  I  have  met  but  few 
such.  Colonel  Robert  G.  Ingersoll  is  one 
who  never  lets  down  and  always  sits  erect 
on  his  one  distinct  and  concededly  great 
saddle.  In  whatever  he  does  he  is  always 
above  the  average. 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  223 

Mr.  Whitman  could  have  been  ex 
cused  for  a  show  of  vanity  when  one 
considers  the  following  correspondence 
with  Alfred  Tennyson  and  Frederick 
Locker  [Lampson]. 

Mr.  Whitman  wrote  Alfred  Tennyson  a 
letter  before  1871.  No  copy  is  at  hand. 

Mr.  Tennyson  seems  not  to  have  an 
swered  this. 

Mr.  Tennyson  wrote  to  Mr.  Whitman 
in  1871.  This  letter  is  addressed  to  Mr. 
WTalt  Whitman,  Washington,  U.  S.  A., 
and  is  indorsed  in  Mr.  Whitman's  hand 
writing,  "1st  letter,  Tennyson,  July  12, 
1871." 

ALDWORTH,  BLACKDOWN,  HASLEMERE, 

SURREY,  ENGLAND,  July  12,  1871. 
MY  DEAR  SIR,  Mr.  Cyril  Flower  wrote  to  me 
some  time  ago  to  inform  me  that  he  had  brought 
your  books  with  him  from  America,  a  gift  from 
you,  and  that  they  were  lying  in  my  London  cham 
bers  ;  Whereupon  I  wrote  back  to  him,  begging 
him  to  bring  them  himself  to  me  at  my  country 
house,  and  I  have  been  accordingly,  always  expect 
ing  to  see  him,  but  he  never  came,  being  detained 
by  law  business  in  town.  I  have  now  just  called 
at  my  London  lodgings,  and  found  them  on  the 
table.  I  had  previously  met  with  several  of  your 


224          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

works  and  read  them  with  interest  and  had  made 
up  my  mind  that  you  had  a  large  and  lovable 
nature.  I  discovered  great  "go"  in  your  writ 
ings  and  am  not  surprised  at  the  hold  they  have 
taken  on  your  fellow  countrymen. 

Wishing  you  all  success  and  prosperity,  and 
with  all  thanks  for  your  kind  gift  which  I  should 
have  acknowledged  earlier,  had  I  received  it 
sooner  I  remain 

Ever  yours,  very  truly, 

A  TENNYSON 

I  trust  that  if  you  visit  England,  you  will 
grant  me  the  pleasure  of  receiving  and  entertain 
ing  you  under  my  own  roof. 

Mr.  Whitman,  from  Washington,  wrote 
Mr.  Tennyson  a  second  letter.  Copy  of 
it  is  indorsed  by  Mr.  Whitman,  "  second 
letter  to  Tennyson,  April  27,  1872." 
Sent  Tennyson,  with  copy  of  '  Leaves  of 
Grass,'  and  '  Democratic  Vistas.'  " 

APRIL  27,  1872, 
MY  DEAR  MR.  TENNYSON  : 

This  morning's  paper  has  a  vague  sort  of  an 
item  about  your  coming  to  America,  or  wanting 
to  come,  to  view  the  working  of  our  institutions, 
etc.  Is  there  anything  in  it?  I  hope  so,  for  I 
want  more  and  more  to  meet  you  and  be  with 
you.  Then  I  should  like  to  give  my  explanations 
and  comments  of  America  and  her  shows,  affairs, 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FKIENDS.  225 

persons,  doings,  off-hand,  as  you  witness  them, 
and  became  puzzled,  perhaps,  dismayed  by  them. 
America  is  at  present  a  vast  seething  mass  of 
varied  material  human  and  other,  of  the  richest, 
best,  worst,  and  plentiest  kind.  Wealthy  invent 
ive,  no  limit  to  food,  land,  money,  work,  opportu 
nity,  smart  and  industrious  citizens,  but  (though 
real  and  permanently  politically  organized  by 
birth  and  acceptance)  without  fusion  or  definite 
heroic  identity  in  form  and  purpose  or  organiza 
tion,  which  can  only  come  by  native  schools  of 
great  ideas, — religion,  poets,  literature,— and  will 
surely  come,  even  through  the  measureless  crud 
ity  of  the  States  in  those  fields  so  far,  and  to-day. 

The  Lesson  of  Buckle's  books  on  civilization  al 
ways  seemed  to  me  to  be  that  the  preceding  main 
basis  and  continual  sine  qua  non  of  civilization 
is  the  eligibility  to,  and  certainty  of  boundless 
products  for  feeding,  clothing,  and  sheltering 
everybody,  infinite  comfort,  personal  and  inter 
communication  and  plenty,  with  mental  and 
ecclesiastical  freedom,  and  that  then  all  the  rest, 
moral  and  esthetic,  will  take  care  of  itself.  Well, 
the  United  States  have  secured  the  requisite  bases, 
and  must  now  proceed  to  build  upon  them. 

I  send  you  by  same  mail  with  this,  a  more 
neatly  printed  copy  of  my  "Leaves";  also 
"Dem.  Vistas." 

Your  letter  of  last  fall  reached  me  at  the  time. 
[Not  found.]  Have  you  forgotten  that  you  put  a 
promise  in  it,  to  send  me  your  picture  when  "  you 


226          WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

could  lay  hands  on  a  good  one?"— [In  letter  of 
September  22,  1871.] 

I  have  been  in  Brooklyn  and  New  York  most 
of  the  past  winter  and  current  spring,  visiting  my 
aged  dear  mother,  near  eighty.  Am  now  back  here 
at  work.  Am  well  and  hearty.  I  have  received 
two  letters  from  you,  July  12  and  September  22, 
of  last  year  [1872].  This  is  the  second  letter  I 
have  written  to  you.  My  address  is  :  Solicitor's 
Office,  Treasury,  Washington,  D.  C.,  United 
States.  Write  soon,  my  friend.  Don't  forget  the 
picture. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

Mr.  Tennyson  sent  Mr.  Whitman  his 
photograph,  with  autograph,  in  June, 
1872. 

Mr.  Whitman  wrote  Mr.  Tennyson  from 
Camden,  N.  J.,  May  24,  1873: 

DEAR  MR.  TENNYSON  : 

It  is  long  time  since  my  last  to  you.  I  have, 
however,  mailed  you  once  or  twice  pieces  of 
mine  in  print  which  I  suppose  you  received. 
January,  1873,  I  was  taken  down  with  illness; 
some  three  months  afterward  was  recovering  at 
Washington,  when  called  here  by  the  death  of 
my  mother,  and  from  that  time  becoming  worse, 
I  have  given  up  work,  and  remained  here  since. 

I  had  paralysis  from  cerebral  anaemia.  I  do 
not  fail  in  flesh,  color,  spirits,  appetite,  and  sleep 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  227 

pretty  good ;  am  up  and  dressed  every  day,  and 
go  out  a  little,  but  very  lame  yet. 

I  received  your  last  letter  (of  June,  1872)  and 
the  good  photograph,  which  I  have  looked  at 
many  times,  and  sometimes  almost  fancied  you  in 
person  silently  sitting  nigh. 

To-day,  a  cloudy  and  drizzly  Sunday,  I  have 
taken  it  in  my  head,  sitting  here  alone,  to  follow 
the  inner  mood  and  write  (a  tinge  of  Quaker 
blood  and  breed  in  me)  though  really  without 
anything  to  say,  only  just  to  write  to  you. 

It  is  pleasant  here,  right  on  the  banks  of  the 
noble  Delaware  opposite  Philadelphia.  The  doc 
tors  say  I  shall  yet  come  round,  and  I  think  so, 
too.  Truly  your  friend, 

W.  W. 

In  answer  to  the  above,  Mr.  Tennyson 
wrote  Mr.  Whitman  from  Aldworth, 
Blackdown,  Haslemere,  England,  of  no 
date.  The  envelope  bears  the  post-mark: 
"  Haslemere,  July  8,  1874. " 

DEAR  MR.  WALT  WHITMAN  : 

I  am  grieved  to  hear  that  you  have  been  so 
unwell  and  can  only  trust  that  your  physician  is 
a  true  prophet,  and  that  you  will  recover  and  be 
as  well  as  ever.  I  have  myself  known  a  case  of 
cerebral  anaemia  in  a  young  lady  living  near  me 
She  lost  her  mind  and  no  one  who  saw  her  be 
lieved  she  could  live;  but  under  the  superintend- 


228          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

ence  of  a  good  doctor  she  has  perfectly  recovered 
and  looks  plumper  and  fresher  than  ever  she  did 
before. 

This  is  the  first  letter  I  have  written  for  weeks, 
and  I  am  afraid  I  write  rather  obscurely,  for  my 
hand  and  arm  have  been  crippled  with  rheuma 
tism  (I  hope  it  is  not  gout),  and  I  am  not  yet 
perfectly  recovered. 

I  was  beholden  to  you  for  your  Democratic 
Vistas,  and  if  I  did  not  answer  and  acknowledge 
them  I  regret  to  have  done  so ;  but  if  you  knew 
how  great  the  mass  of  my  correspondence  is,  and 
how  much  I  dislike  letter-writing,  I  doubt  not, 
you  would  forgive  me  easily. 

When-  I  next  hear  of  or  from  you  may  the 
news  be  that  you  are  fully  re-established  in  your 
old  vigor  and  body :  Meanwhile  believe  me 

Yours  ever 

A  TENNYSON 

Mr.  Whitman  next  wrote  to  Mr.  Ten 
nyson  from  Camden,  July  24,  1875 : 

MY  DEAR  MR.  TENNYSON  : 

Since  I  last  wrote  you,  (your  kind  response  was 
duly  received)  I  have  been  laid  up  here  nearly  all 
the  time,  and  still  continue  so, — quite  shattered, 
but,  somehow  with  good  spirits ;  not  well  enough  to 
go  out  in  the  world  and  go  to  work,  but  not  sick 
enough  to  give  up  either,  or  lose  my  interest  in 
affairs,  life,  literature,  etc.  I  keep  up  and  dressed, 
and  go  out  a  little  nearly  every  day. 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  229 

I  have  been  reading-  your  "  Queen  Mary,"  and 
think  you  have  excelled  yourself  in  it.  I  did  not 
know  until  I  read  it,  how  much  eligibility  to 
passion,  character,  and  art  arousings  was  still  left 
to  me  in  my  sickness  and  old  age.  Though  I  am 
democrat  enough  to  realize  the  deep  criticism  of 
Jefferson  (?)  on  Walter  Scott's  writings  (and  many 
of  the  finest  plays,  poems,  and  romances)  that  they 
fail  to  give  at  all  the  life  of  the  great  mass  of  the 
people  then  and  there. 

I  shall  print  a  new  volume  before  long  and  will 
send  you  a  copy.  I  send  you  a  paper  about  same 
mail  as  this.  Soon  as  convenient  write  me  a  few 
lines.  (Put  in  letter  your  exact  P.  O.  address.) 
If  you  have  leisure,  tell  me  about  yourself.  I 
shall  never  see  you  and  talk  to  you,  so  I  hope  you 
will  write  to  make  it  up. 

Your  friend 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

Mr.  Tennyson  answered  this  from  Has- 
lemere,  August  16,  1875  : 

MY  DEAR  WALT  WHITMAN  : 

(Somehow  the  Mr.  does  not  come  well  before 
Walt  Whitman.)  I  am  glad  to  hear  from  you 
again,  and  to  learn  that  at  any  rate  you  are  no 
worse  than  when  you  last  wrote,  and  that  though 
your  health  be  shattered,  your  good  spirits  nourish 
up  like  a  plant  from  broken  ground;  glad  also 
that  you  find  something  to  approve  of  in  work  so 
wholly  unlike  your  own  as  my  Queen  Mary. 


230          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

I  am  this  morning  starting  with  my  wife  and 
sons  on  a  tour  to  the  Continent.  She  has  been 
very  unwell  for  two  years,  obliged  always  to  lie 
down  and  incapable  of  any  work,  in  consequence 
of  overwork — the  case  of  so  many  in  this  age,  you 
among  others ;  and  we  are  now  going  into  a  land 
of  fuller  sunshine  in  hope  that  it  may  benefit  her. 

I  am  in  an  extreme  hurry,  packing  up,  and  after 
these  few  words  must  bid  you  good-by,  not  with 
out  expressing  my  hope  however,  that  you  will 
ultimately  recover  all  your  pristine  vigor. 

I  shall  be  charmed  to  receive  your  book 
Ever  yours 

A  TENNYSON 

Mr.  Whitman  answered  the  above  Sep 
tember  14,  1876.  (Copy  not  at  hand.) 
On  August  9,  1878,  Mr.  Whitman  again 
wrote  Mr.  Tennyson  : 

AUGUST  9,  1878. 
MY  DEAR  TENNYSON  : 

The  last  letter  I  sent  you  was  September  14, 
1876,  (nearly  two  years  ago),  to  which  I  have 
received  no  response.  I  also  sent  you  my  two 
volumes;  new  edition,  having  received  your  sub 
scription  of  five  pounds  (with  an  intimation  from 
Robert  Buchanan  that  no  books  were  expected  in 
return,  but  I  preferred  to  send  them). 

I  am  still  in  the  land  of  the  living,  much  better 
and  robuster  the  last  two  years,  and  especially 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  231 

the  last  six  months,  (though  a  partial  paralytic 
yet).  I  find  the  experiences  of  invalidism  and  the 
losing  of  corporeal  ties  not  without  their  advan 
tages,  at  least,  if  one  reserve  enough  physique  to, 
as  it  were,  confront  the  invalidism.  But  all  this 
summer  I  have  been,  and  am  well  enough  to  be 
out  on  the  water  or  down  in  the  fields  or  woods  of 
the  country  more  than  half  the  time  and  am  quite 
4 '  hefty  "  (as  we  say  here)  and  sunburnt. 

Best  regards  and  love  to  you,  dear  friend. 
Write  me  first  leisure  and  opportunity.  Haven't 
you  a  son — lately  married — I  have  heard  about  ? 
Pray,  tell  me  something  about  him  and  the  re 
spected  lady,  your  wife,  whom  you  mentioned  in 
your  last  as  prostrated  with  illness,  and  yourself, 

most  of  all. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

Mr.  Tennyson  answered  the  above  on 
August  29,  1878,  but  strange  to  say  it  did 
not  reach  Mr.  Whitman  until  October  17, 
1878.  Mr.  Tennyson,  in  directing  the 
envelope,  omitted  "Camden,"  and  merely 
sent  it  to  "  Mr.  Walt  Whitman,  431 
Stevens  Street,  New  Jersey,  U.  S.  Amer 
ica."  The  letter  was  returned  to  Hasle- 
mere,  England,  for  better  direction  and 
remailed  by  Mr.  Tennyson.  On  Octo 
ber  4,  1878,  Mr.  Tennyson  wrote  on  the 
flap  of  the  original  envelope  : 


232          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

DEAR  W.  W. : 

I  foolishly  left  out  "  Camden  "  on  my  direction, 
as  you  see.  I  am  sorry,  for  you  would  think  I 
had  forgotten  you. 

The  letter  was  as  follows  : 

ALDWORTH,  HASLEMERE,  SURREY, 

August  29,  1878. 
MY  DEAR  WALT  WHITMAN  : 

I  am  not  over-fond  of  letter  writing — rather 
hate  it  indeed,  and  am  so  overburdened  with 
correspondence  that  I  neglect  half  of  it.  Never 
theless  let  me  hope  that  I  answered  your  last  of 
September  14,  76,  and  that  it  miscarried.  I  am 
very  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  so  improved  in 
health,  that  you  move  about  the  fields  aad  woods 
freely  and  have  enjoyment  of  your  life. 

As  to  myself,  I  am  pretty  well  for  my  time  of 
life,  sixty-nine  on  the  sixth  of  this  month,  but 
somewhat  troubled  about  my  eyes,  for  I  am  not 
only  the  shortest-sighted  man  in  England,  but 
have  a  great  black  island  floating  in  each  eye,  and 
these  blacknesses  increase  with  increasing  years. 
However,  my  oculist  informs  me  that  I  shall  not 
go  blind,  and  bids  me  as  much  as  possible  spare 
my  eyes,  neither  reading  nor  writing  too  much. 

My  wife  is  still  an  invalid  and  forced  to  lie  on 
the  sofa  all  day  but  still  I  trust  somewhat 
stronger  than  when  I  last  wrote  to  you. 

My  younger  son  Lionel  (whom  you  inquire 
about),  was  married  to  the  daughter  of  F.  Locker 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  233 

(the  author  of  London  Lyrics)  in  February.  The 
wedding  was  celebrated  in  our  grand  old  histori 
cal  abbey  of  Westminster.  There  was  a  great 
attendance  of  literati,  etc  of  all  which  I  read  an 
account  in  one  of  your  New  York  papers.  Every 
third  word  a  lie. 

Treubner  writes  to  me  this  morning,  stating 
that  you  wished  to  see  a  parody  of  yourself,  which 
appeared  among  other  parodies  of  modern  authors 
in  a  paper  called  The  London.  I  have  it  not  or 
I  would  send  it  to  you.  Good-by  good  friend, 
I  think  I  have  answered  all  your  questions. 
Yours  ever 

A  TENNYSON 

This  may  have  been  the  last  letter  re 
ceived  by  Mr.  Whitman  from  Tennyson. 
However,  the  Camden  (N.  J.)  Post, 
February  1,  1887,  notes  that  Mr.  Whit 
man  was  out  riding  the  day  before,  and 
that  he  received  a  warm  letter  from 
Alfred  Tennyson,  commencing  "  Dear  old 
man."  Mr.  Whitman  said  that  the  letters 
herein  were  not  all.  That  there  were  one 
or  two  others  which  he  would  find  in  time. 

In  1885  Mr.  Whitman  gave  a  note  of 
introduction  to  a  young  American  lady 
of  Philadelphia  to  Mr.  Tennyson  (Miss 
Mary  Whitall  Smith). 


234  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

She  writes  to  Mr.  Whitman  from 
London  of  her  visit  to  Tennyson.  The 
apology  for  introducing  the  lady's  name 
is  the  beauty  and  simplicity  of  the  letter. 

LONDON,  July  25,  1885. 
DEAR  MR.  WHITMAN  : 

Before  any  more  days  pass  I  must  write  and 
tell  thee  of  our  visit  to  Tennyson,  which  took 
place  day  before  yesterday. 

We  sent  him  thy  letter  from  Lord  Mount  Tem 
ple's,  where  we  were  staying.  His  son  Hallam 
wrote  to  us  from  the  Isle  of  Wight,  asking  us 
to  come  Wednesday  morning.  So,  Wednesday, 
about  half  past  eleven,  papa  and  Alys  and  I 
alighted  at  his  front  door,  where  a  huge,  curly 
dog  overwhelmed  us  with  caresses.  Tennyson 
was  not  in,  but  Lady  Tennyson  received  us  and 
talked  with  us  until  he  came.  We  were  walking 
in  the  old-fashioned  flower  garden  when  we  met 
him,  and  almost  the  first  thing  he  said  was  a 
''deep  remark.'1  He  said  that  he  was  walking 
out  one  evening  looking  at  the  stars,  so  absorbed 
that  he  fell  into  a  puddle ;  but  he  noticed  after 
ward  that  the  star  was  in  the  puddle  also !  There 
upon  we  all  tried  to  think  of  something  witty  in 
reply.  Something  about  poet's  feet  tangled  among 
stars  would  have  been  appropriate,  but  as  none  of 
us  thought  of  that  reply  till  afterward,  we  had  to 
let  the  opportunity  slip.  We  walked  with  him 
and  with  his  son  all  about  the  garden  for  about 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  235 

an  hour.  He  showed  us  a  tree  planted  by  Gam- 
betta,  and  talked  to  me  about  Turgeineff,  and 
asked  all  about  thee. 

As  we  were  going  away,  he  told  me  to  give  thee 
his  love.  His  home  is  a  large,  rambling,  old- 
fashioned  house  full  of  interesting  pictures  and 
engravings.  It  has  a  look  of  being  lived  in,  and 
all  the  arrangements  were  "casual,"  as  English 
people  say.  Hats  and  walking-sticks  were  lying 
about  in  chairs  and  dogs  raced  in  and  out  at  their 
pleasure. 

Tennyson's  ' '  den  "  is  up  at  the  top  of  a  narrow, 
winding  stair — a  large,  sunny  room,  lined  with 
books  and  having  a  lovely  view  of  Freshwater 
Bay,  framed  in  the  dark  green  branches  of  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon.  They  insisted  upon  our  stay 
ing  to  lunch,  but  made  us  promise  not  to  put 
anything  in  any  newspaper  about  it. 

Tennyson  seems  to  have  a  horror  of  notoriety, 
and  he  told  us  a  great  many  stories  of  the  annoy 
ances  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  from 
curious,  inquisitive,  and  gossiping  visitors. 

The  chief  impression  that  his  conversation 
made  upon  me  was  of  a  keen  and  eager  mind  (he 
has  a  wonderful  memory  for  facts)  and  a  keen 
sense  of  humor.  He  tells  a  funny  story  as  well 
as  anyone  I  ever  heard.  We  came  away  soon 
after  lunch,  having  had  a  most  interesting  visit, 
for  which  we  all  felt  very  grateful  to  thee.  .  .  , 
Alys  looks  forward  to  going  to  see  thee  when  she 
comes  home  in  September,  and  to  showing  thee 


236          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

the  photograph  of  himself  which  Tennyson  gave 
her,  with  his  autograph  beneath. 
With  much  love,  I  am,  thy  friend, 

MARY  WHITALL  SMITH. 


Mr.  Whitman  had  some  correspondence 
.with  Frederick  Locker  [Lampson]  of  Lon 
don,  the  poet.  Mr.  Locker's  daughter 
married  Tennyson's  second  son.  Mr. 
Locker  wrote  Mr.  Whitman  from 


25  CHESHAM  STREET,  S.  W., 
BELGRAVE  SQUARE, 

LONDON,  April  7,  1880. 
DEAR  MR.  WHITMAN: 

Thank  you  very  much  for  the  "  Two  Rivulets," 
which  came  sparkling,  and  dancing,  and  babbling 
into  my  house  this  morning.  I  have  long  been 
acquainted  with  your  writings,  and  have  taken  a 
great  interest  in  them.  I  wish  you  had  given  me 
a  line  to  say  what  you  were  doing,  and  how  you 
were.  I  trust  the  world  uses  you  fairly  well,  but 
I  do  not  think  it  is  a  world  that  is  much  to  boast 
about.  Mr.  Tennyson  has  been  in  London  for  the 
last  six  weeks,  and  now  he  has  gone  to  his  home 
in  the  Isle  of  Wight.  I  have  often  heard  him 
speak  of  you,  and  about  you,  in  a  way  that  would 
be  gratifying  to  you,  as  "Walt  Whitman,  the 
Poet,"  and  "Walt  Whitman,  the  man,"  and  I 


ME.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  237 

like  your  portrait.     It  reminds  me  a  little  of  that 
of  Isaac  Walton. 

I  am,  very  sincerely  yours, 

FREDERICK  LOCKER. 


Mr.  Locker  addressed  Mr.  Whitman 
a  postal  card,  October  13,  1880,  from 
London : 

I  have  just  received  your  card,  dated  28th  Sep 
tember,  and  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that  you  have 
had  so  pleasant  a  summer,  and  that  you  are 
in  better  health.  Long  may  you  remain  so,  say  I. 
Did  you  receive  a  letter  I  sent  you  some  weeks 
ago,  asking  you  to  write  four  or  six  lines  in  an 
MS.  poem  by  Walter  Scott  ?  Not  hearing  from 
you,  I  fear  you  have  not  received  it.  If  you  have 
not  received  it,  may  I  send  it  to  you  again,  when 
I  will  explain  my  wishes  ?  It  will  only  occupy 
you  for  five  minutes.  I  spent  a  very  pleasant 
hour  yesterday  with  Lowell  [J.  E.].  We  smoked 
the  pipe  of  good-fellowship.  Tennyson  is  in  Sus 
sex,  quite  well.  I  shall  send  him  your  card. 
Yours, 

F.  LOCKER. 


Mr.  Locker  again  wrote  Mr.  Whitman 
from  25  Ghesham  Street,  London,  31st 
January,  1881 : 


238  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

MY  GOOD  FRIEND  : 

It  was  a  kind  thought  of  yours,  sending  me 
your  article  from  the  North  American  Review. 
I  forwarded  Alfred  [Tennyson]  his  copy  to  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  where  he  is  living  at  present.  He 
will  be  in  London  before  Easter.  You  may  know 
about  when  that  will  be,  though  you  may  not  take 
great  keep  of  the  ancient  festival.  Alfred  [Ten 
nyson]  will  be  much  pleased  with  what  you  say 
about  him  in  your  article,  yet,  perhaps,  he  may  not 
be  quite  pleased.  It  is  very  difficult  to  discourse 
on  a  poet,  and  to  entirely  please  him.  I  am  sure 
he  will  be  interested,  as  I  am,  in  your  article. 

Poets  of  eminence,  and  writers  of  discernment, 
tell  me  that  the  real  representative  poet  of  Amer 
ica  came  into  view  when  you  first  put  pen  to 
paper. 

Certainly,  nearly  all  your  poets,  delightful  as 
they  are,  are  founded  on  European  models,  in  sub 
ject  and  form,  but  I  presume  what  you  mean 
strikes  deeper  than  that.  I  will  not  trouble  you 
with  more  of  my  views  of  this  subject. 

I  hope  you  are  as  well  and  happy  as  you  can 
hope  to  be  on  this  best  of  all  possible  worlds. 

We  are  losing  Carlyle.  As  I  write  he  is  either 
moribund  or  dead.  Farewell. 

F.  LOCKER. 

The  character  of  the  letters  received  by 
Mr.  Whitman  from  correspondents  as  a 
rule  on  perusal,  conveys  and  gives  the  im- 


MB.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  239 

pression  of  the  concession  of  a  superior 
mind  in  the  person  to  whom  addressed. 
The  three  letters  following  from  a  lady 
correspondent  at  Detroit,  Mich.,  Mrs. 
Elisa  Seaman  Leggett,  are  instructive  and 
graphic. 

169  EAST  ELIZABETH  STREET, 

DETROIT,  October  9,  1880. 
MR.  W.  WHITMAN. 

Dear  Friend :  Do  you  know  it  seems  very 
much  out  of  tune  to  say  Mr.  to  Walt  Whitman  ? 
and  the  good  old  Quaker  dignity  of  addressing 
one  by  name  alone,  I  like.  I  hope  you  are  in 
good  health  this  lovely  day  of  October.  I  feel 
lonely  in  October  since  William  Cullen  Bryant 
died.  Always  in  this  month  I  used  to  write  to 
him,  just  that  I  might  be  ahead  in  my  congratula 
tions  upon  his  birthday.  I  remember  the  sweet 
October  days  in  Boslyn,  when  he  and  his  wife 
would  come  over  to  Hillside,  on  some  soft,  dreamy 
afternoon  in  the  Indian  summer;  perhaps  with  a 
small  basket  with  nice  lunch  in  it  and  a  book, 
"  The  Berkshire  Jubilee,"  and  he  would  climb  up 
the  hill  and  get  into  the  woods,  always  stopping 
upon  the  brow  of  the  hill  back  of  the  barn,  just 
under  a  famous  great  butternut  tree,  and,  turning, 
take  a  look  upon  the  harbor  and  far  away  Long 
Island  Sound,  the  Red  Mill  hid  among  the  willows, 
the  lake  under  the  close  Harbor  hill,  and  the  busy 
village.  Bryant  always  loved  just  this  view  of  the 


240  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

bay.  Well,  I  won't  talk  now  of  Bryant,  although, 
when  I  used  to  write  him  from  here,  I  would  say : 
"The  month  of  October  I  give  to  memories  of 
Roslyn." 

And  where  are  you  now  to-day  ?  We  felt  sorry 
not  to  have  you  come  to  us.  All  the  summer  the 
chair  stood  for  you  on  our  piazza.  It  stands  there 
yet,  with  its  broad  arms  waiting  for  you.  All 
summer  the  old  willows  swayed  and  rippled,  and 
spoke  the  "various  language."  All  summer 
thousands  of  sparrows  came  home  at  early  twilight 
and  talked  ever  so  much,  and  scolded  some,  and 
nestled  in  the  great  ivy  on  the  east  wall  of  our 
home,  and  Walt  Whitman  came  not  to  sit  beside 
us.  Well,  we  all  felt  sorry.  When  I  say  all,  I 
mean  three  generations,  a  goodly  company  of  old 
and  young,  down  to  the  babe  of  a  few  days  old.  It 
may  be  the  baby  felt  sorry.  If  it  don't  now, 
it  will  when  it  learns  of  our  disappointment,  for 
its  mother  did.  My  son  sent  me  your  picture  last 
week  from  New  York,  the  one  sitting  on  the  rocks, 
by  Sarony.  I  don't  know  when  it  was  taken,  but 
it  looks  younger  than  the  one  he  sent  me  three 
years  ago — the  one  with  the  large  necktie.  Did 
you  get  the  story  I  wrote  you  about  your  ' '  Leaves 
of  Grass  "  ?  When  the  book  came  back  to  me,  the 
picture  had  been  taken  out.  I  meant  to  have 
asked  you,  while  talking  of  Roslyn,  if  you  were 
ever  there  ?  Oh  !  it  is  so  charming  in  autumn. 
My  husband  has  just  bought  me  the  "  Prayer  of 
Columbus, "  by  Walt  Whitman.  I  had  never  read 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  241 

it  before.  Why  he  thought  I  would  be  especially 
interested  was  this :  I  believe  it  would  be  good  to 
have  a  universal  holyday,  and  I  like  to  talk  about 
Columbus  to  my  children,  and  like  to  stimulate 
them  to  feel  that  the  advent  of  Columbus  to  the 
New  World  would  be  a  grand  day  to  select— not 
his  birthday,  but  the  day  on  which  he  fell  on  his 
knees  and  thanked  God  for  the  longed-for  real 
ity—the  truth  his  soul  had  believed  in.  One 
child  says :  ' '  Mother,  don't  you  think  that  the 
landing  of  '  The  Pilgrim  Fathers  '  was  more  noble, 
more  than  the  birth  of  America  as  a  Nation  ? "  I 
answer:  "The  thought  of  Columbus  was  for  the 
world;  the  thought  of  the  others,  freedom  for  a 
theory.  Columbus  opened  the  flood-gates  and  be 
hold!  now  the  growing  Brotherhood  of  Man." 
On  the  14th  day  of  this  month  I  shall  pass  the  day 
with  my  family  and  a  few  friends,  to  read  and 
talk  about  Columbus  and  about  the  far  away 
holyday.  I  have  four  children  in  Heidelberg 
(Germany).  The  eldest  grandson  writes  : 
"  Grandma,  in  1892,  it  will  be  the  400th  anniver 
sary  of  Columbus  and  of  America.  Shall  we  start 
then  ?  "  I  say:  "No,  dear.  I'm  going  to  have  a 
little  tea  party  here  this  year,  on  the  14th  day  of 
October,  just  to  celebrate  in  advance,  for  when  one 
gets  to  be  sixty-five,  we  don't  count  twelve  years 
— to  wait.  One  wants  to  go  to  work  and  start  a 
point."  I  always  remember  just  a  small  event 
that  has  occurred  in  my,  life.  When  we  came  into 
Detroit,  fifteen  years  ago,  there  was  no  place  in 


242          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

the  streets  for  a  drink  of  water— no  old-fashioned 
pumps,  and  no  new-fashioned  fountains.  I  knew 
three  editors  of  daily  papers.  I  said :  "  It  is  no 
wonder  that  dogs  go  mad  in  Detroit.  They  must 
run  down  to  the  river  before  they  can  get  a  drink. 
And  it's  no  wonder  that  the  beer  saloons  nourish, 
for  not  even  a  little  boy  or  poor  laboring  man  can 
get  a  cup  of  cold  water."  So  I  talked  in  season 
and  out  to  everybody,  thinking  I  might  touch  the 
hem  of  some  garment,  and  virtue  would  go  out 
from  it.  So,  after  a  year  or  more,  one  morning, 
there  came  a  nice  editorial,  advocating  fountains, 
such  as  they  had  in  Philadelphia:  and  the  City 
Fathers  were  moved,  and  now  we  have  all  we 
want.  So  now  I  am  going  to  talk  to  everybody 
about  Columbus  day,  and  who  knows  but  that 
some  day  the  world  will  clasp  hands  and  sing 
songs  of  jubilee  in  concert,  and  honor  itself  by  a 
recognition  of  the  event. 

I  am  yours  truly, 

ELISA  SEAMAN  LEGGETT. 

DETROIT,  June  22,  1881. 

DEAR  FRIEND  :  Let  me  thank  you  for  papers 
sent,  which  gave  me  great  pleasure. 

I  wonder  if  you  know  anything  about  Sojourner 
Truth,  an  old  col'd  woman,  known  to  be  100  years 
of  age.  She  remembers  the  soldiers  of  our  Revo 
lutionary  War,  going  to  see  them  and  their 
wounded  legs;  tells  incidents,  when  she  was  a 
"  pretty  big  girl,"  of  the  events  of  the  Revolution. 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FEIENDS.  243 

Her  father's  mother  was  a  squaw.  Sojourner  was 
a  slave  in  New  York  State,  on  the  Hudson,  until 
she  was  forty  years.  After  her  freedom  she  be 
came  a  seeker  for  the  truth ;  hence  she  gave  up 
her  slave  name  of  Isabella  and  took  the  one  she 
has,  saying  ' '  she  would  be  a  sojourner  on  the 
earth,  seeking  for  truth."  She  is  a  majestic,  tall, 
thin  person,  with  an  eye  f every  at  times,  at  others, 
tender  and  pitiful.  She  can  neither  read  or  write, 
but  she  has  a  powerful  voice  and,  like  her  eye,  at 
times,  sweet,  and  filled  with  human  love.  Soon 
after  her  emancipation,  she  heard  of  Matthias.  Do 
you  remember  him,  in  New  York  ?  You  were  a 
little  boy  then,  but  he  represented  himself  as 
Christ,  and  a  follower  of  his  called  himself  John 
the  Baptist.  There  was  a  "  Kingdom  of  Heaven  " 
established  up  the  North  River,  with  many  disci 
ples.  Sojourner's  imagination  was  fired  by  this,  and 
she  thought  she  had  found  the  truth,  lived  among 
them  and  discovered  great  sins  and  corruption. 
A  sudden  death  came  in  the  "  Kingdom "  and 
Matthias  was  arrested.  Sojourner  knew  him  to 
be  innocent,  took  care  of  him  in  prison,  testified 
as  to  his  innocence, — a  long  story, — but  she  got 
him  clear.  Then  she  got  on  Long  Island,  and 
after  a  while  joined  the  Adventists  at  Northamp 
ton,  Mass. ,  saw  their  mistakes,  and  threw  herself 
into  a  servant  of  truth,  meant  to  help  the  Lord. 
She  worked  in  the  anti-slavery  cause;  was  inti 
mate  with  Garrison,  Phillips,  G-erritt  Smith,  and 
Lucretia  Mott;  was  well  known  and  honored  in 


244          WALT  WHITMAN,   THE  MAN. 

the  houses  of  all  these;  worked  in  the  woman's 
cause,  and  was  a  hard  worker  in  the  war;  went  to 
Washington  and  saw  President  Lincoln,  had  a 
good  talk  with  him,  told  him  ' '  she  had  come  to 
help  him."  He  said:  "Go  and  teach  your  race 
the  meaning  of  liberty."  Stayed  there  a  year 
working.  Then  she  went  to  a  water  cure  to  study 
the  laws  of  health.  She  has  lectured  in  all  of  our 
Northern  States  and  many  of  the  Middle  ones ;  in 
every  good  cause,  and  on  temperance,  in  our  po 
litical  campaigns  she  has  been  most  efficient; 
she  spent  one  winter  with  Theodore  Til  ton,  and 
knew  the  Beechers  well,  old  Lyrnan  Beecher  and 
Mrs.  Stowe  as  well;  she  has  been  upon  the  plat 
form  with  our  best  men  and  women,  and  knew 
them  intimately,  Theodore  Parker  and  all  who 
worked  in  reform  causes ;  she  will  not  have  the 
Bible  read  to  her  except  by  children;  and  says: 
"  If  it  was  the  Word  of  God  he  will  make  it  plain 
to  her."  She  talks  with  God  as  though  he  was 
beside  her,  and  asks  him  many  questions,  some 
times  advises  a  little.  She  don't  see  anything 
useful  in  the  new  translation  of  the  New  Testa 
ment  ;  says  that  the  history  belongs  to  past  ages. 
We  have  outgrown  the  history,  but  the  truths  that 
Christ  gave  can't  die.  Thinks  there  ought  to  be 
Scriptures  written  of  what  God  has  done  ever 
since  the  times  of  the  early  creation  and  Moses — 
Scriptures  telling  of  railroads,  and  telephones  and 
the  Atlantic  cable.  She  sees  God  in  a  steam  en 
gine  and  electricity.  Well,  I  have  told  you  all 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  245 

this,  just  to  tell  you  of  an  anecdote  connected  with 
yourself.  In  1864  she  visited  me  in  Detroit.  I 
used  to  read  your  "Leaves  of  Grass"  to  my 
children.  It  has  formed  a  large  part  of  their  edu 
cation.  Once  with  my  back  to  the  door  entering 
the  parlor,  in  a  large  chair,  my  children  before 
me  on  the  sofa,  I  noticed  while  I  read  they  looked 
up.  I  said:  "Pay  attention,  or  I  can't  read  to 
you."  So  they  were  quiet,  and  I  continued. 
Presently  I  was  surprised  to  hear  Sojourner,  in  a 
loud  voice,  exclaim,  * l  Who  wrote  that  ? "  I 
turned,  and  there  in  the  doorway  she  stood,  her 
tall  figure,  with  a  white  turban  on  her  head,  her 
figure  and  every  feature  full  of  expression.  Im 
mediately,  she  added:  "Never  mind  the  man's 
name.  It  was  God  who  wrote  it.  He  chose  the 
man  to  give  his  message."  After  that  I  often  read 
it  to  her.  Her  great  brain  accepts  the  highest 
truths.  She  is  here  now.  I  took  her  last  week 
to  hear  a  lecture  upon  Raphael's  School  of 
Athens.  The  teacher  talked  of  the  old  philoso 
phers,  Plato,  Socrates,  and  others.  Sojourner 
gave  great  attention,  occasionally  uttering,  when, 
something  was  explained:  "Eh,  who  said  it.? 
'Tis  God,  'tis  God!  How  good,  how  simple!" 
I  wonder  if  you  care  for  all  this.  She  is  still 
marvelous.  Mr.  Iver  and  his  son,  Percy,  the  lit 
tle  fellow  that  loves  you  so  well,  are  both  painting 
her  portrait.  If  I  can  get  a  photo,  I  will  send 
you  one. 
Last  year  Sojourner  went  to  Kansas  and 


246          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

worked  faithfully  among  the  refugees,  and  lec 
tures  yet.  Her  concern  now  is  to  emancipate  the 
minds  of  people  from  the  old  superstitions  of  re 
ligious  teaching  and  that  the  Kingdom  of  God  is  in 
the  hearts  of  his  children,  and  telling  the  people  to 
save  their  labor  about  sending  missionaries  to  the 
heathen,  but  to  take  care  of  the  heathen  in  our 
own  country.  Her  voice  is  still  powerful. 
I  am,  with  sincere  good  will,  your  friend, 

ELISA  SEAMAN  LEGGETT. 

DETROIT,  December  19,  1882. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  I  feel  so  drawn  to  send  you 
a  Christmas  greeting.  I  hear  from  Percy  that 
you  are  in  better  health  than  you  were  during  the 
summer.  I  hope  you  may  constantly  improve. 
I  read  a  medical  article  once,  which  said:  "  If  a 
person  has  had  poor  health  through  middle  life 
and  has  struggled  on  so  as  to  reach  his  sixty-sec 
ond  year,  the  probability  is  that  he  will  live 
through  the  next  twenty  years  in  very  comforta 
ble  condition."  I  trust  this  may  prove  a  truth  in 
your  life.  I  don't  know  if  I  think  it  a  fine  wish, 
to  hope  for  length  of  days  for  those  we  love  or 
not,  but  somehow  it  seems  as  though  the  later 
days  of  an  earnest  soul  are  the  ripest  fruit  of  all 
the  seasons — well-conditioned.  So  I  look  upon 
the  life  of  a  person  in  healthy  mind,  from  the 
time  we  call  middle  age  to  the  years  of  eighty  or 
more,  as  the  most  helpful  to  humanity  and  of ten- 
est  the  most  serene  and  richest  to  the  person  him- 


MR.    WHITMAN'S  FRIENDS.  247 

self.  So  let  me  wish  you  a  good  long  life,  full  of 
comfort,  full  of  gifts  to  the  world.  Did  you  re 
ceive  an  invitation  to  the  wedding  of  my  daugh 
ter,  Blanche,  on  the  14th  of  June  last  ?  I  said  to 
her:  "Choose  who  you  like  to  come;"  and  she 
said:  "Oh,  I  would  be  so  glad  to  have  Walt 
Whitman !  He  seems  so  much  like  one  of  our 
family."  I  send  you  her  picture,  that  you  may 
think  of  the  child  who  feels  like  a  sister  to  you. 
This  was  our  baby,  and  she  has  left  her  home  for 
one  in  Chicago.  We  were  never  before  separated. 
It  is  a  trial.  So  often  I  think  of  the  days  of  my 
youth,  amid  the  calm  content  of  Quaker  society, 
so  beautiful.  The  home  where  often  four  genera 
tions  in  one  family  lived,  a  bit  of  the  farm  given 
to  a  child  at  his  coming  of  age,  and  the  marriage 
of  youths  scarcely  separating  families.  Until  I 
came  to  Michigan,  thirty  years  ago,  all  my  sur 
roundings  were  among  Friends,  twelve  years  at 
Roslyn  and  Friends  meeting  at  Wesbury.  Did 
you  ever  attend  a  silent  meeting  ?  If  not,  do  go 
some  day  to  Philadelphia  and  feel  its  solemnity. 
The  last  I  was  at  was  at  Eace  Street.  The  early 
hour  was  silent ;  then  George  Truman  said  a  few 
words  that  seemed  to  fall  like  seed  in  the  prepared 
soil.  A  cat  came  into  the  meeting  and  took  its 
place  beside  the  speaker.  It  all  seemed  right. 
Everything  seemed  so  harmonious,  that  the  quiet 
movements  of  any  domestic  animal  would  have 
created  no  surprise.  Tears  came  into  my  chil 
dren's  eyes.  After  meeting  I  asked  them  why  ? 


248  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

They  could  not  tell,  only  it  was  "  so  sweet,  so 
solemn."  I  will  tell  you  a  story  about  Percy's 
mother,  when  she  was  a  little  child,  seven  years 
old.  A  baby  had  been  born  while  she  was  at 
school.  It  was  dead.  I  took  it  into  a  quiet  room, 
made  it  look  pretty,  and  put  a  few  flowers  about 
it.  It  looked  not  much  different  from  a  doll.  I 
had  often  wondered  if  a  child  had  naturally  a  fear 
of  death,  of  being  alone  with  the  dead.  When 
Minnie  came  home,  I  said:  "Would  you  like  to 
look  at  the  pretty  baby  ?  "  She  touched  the  hand 
and  face  and  kissed  the  face,  and  wanted  to  hold 
it  in  her  arms.  I  laid  it  in  her  lap,  and  said : 
"  Be  careful."  There  was  an  instinct  that  forbade 
her  to  hold  it  up,  and  she  did  not  want  to  give  it 
up.  I  said:  "  Would  you  like  to  stay  and  keep  it 
a  while?"  "Yes."  Then  I  left  her  alone  and 
stood  outside,  thinking  she  might  lift  it.  In  a 
few  minutes  she  called,  and  asked  me  "to  take 
it."  I  asked,  "Why?"  "Oh,  it  was  so  still,  it 
made  her  feel  so  strange !  She  did  not  want  to 
be  alone,  if  mamma  would  stay."  Then  I  won 
dered  if  it  was  the  silence,  so  powerful  is  it,  in  its 
messages.  So  I  feel  the  silences  in  the  meetings 
of  Friends.  I  can't  tell  why,  there  is  a  solemnity 
that  finds  its  way  through  the  soul. 
I  am  my  friend  with  kindest  regards, 
Yours  truly, 

ELISA  S.  LEGGETT. 


SOME   PERSONAL   AND   OLD-AGE  JOTTINGS — 1891. 

Mr.  Whitman  in  a  letter  in  1891,  in  his  J2d  year,  thus  de 
scribes  his  great  arm  rocking  chair  : 

"Toward  the  windows  (of  his  bedroom)  is  a  huge  arm  chair,  a 
Christmas  present  from  Thomas  Donaldson's  young  daughter 
(Mary  E.)  and  son  (Elaine),  Philadelphia,  timber' d  as  by  some 
stout  ship's  spars,  yellow  polished,  ample,  with  rattan  woven 
seat  and  back,  and  over  the  latter  a  great  wide  wolf  skin  of 
hairy  black  and  silver,  spread  to  guard  against  cold  and  draught. 
A  time-worn  look  and  scent  of  Oak  attach  both  to  the  chair  and 
the  person  occupying  it." 

This  chair  was  given  to  Thomas  Donaldson  by  Mr.  Whitman 
in  his  will. 


To  face  page  249 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MB.  WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS,  DEATH, 
AND  BUEIAL,  1891-92. 

His  Housekeeping  in  Camden— Mrs.  Davis  and  Her  Friendship  for 
Mr.  Whitman— The  Tablet  and  Pencil  Friend— Mr.  Whitman's 
Physicians— Minute  of  My  Visit,  December  20, 1891— His  Death 
—The  Funeral  and  Assemblage— Concluding  Remarks. 

"TTTHEN  it  was  apparent  that  his 
VV  brother,  George  Whitman,  with 
whom  he  resided  from  1873,  was  to 
remove  from  Camden,  Mr.  Whitman  had 
to  look  about  him  for  a  home.  He  was 
afraid  of  becoming  a  burden  on  people, 
and  as  he  had  now  a  bit  of  money  in 
sight  he  resolved  to  get  a  house  of  his 
own.  He  consulted  a  few  friends,  and 
among  them  George  W.  Childs.  Mr. 
Childs  furnished  him  funds  with  which 
to  make  a  first  payment  on  the  house, 
328  Mickle  Street,  Camden,  to  which  he 
moved  in  1884,  and  where  he  died  March 
26,  1892.  It  was  most  fortunate  for  him 

249 


250  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

that  he  resided  in  a  house  of  his  own  and 
with  friends  during  the  last  four  years 
of  his  life. 

His  first  attempt  at  housekeeping  on 
Mickle  Street,  Camden,  was  a  failure. 
The  people  who  occupied  his  house  with 
him,  although  his  friends,  were  not  fitted 
to  manage  it.  This  connection  was  dis 
solved,  after  much  inconvenience  had 
resulted  to  Mr.  Whitman,  and  in  1885 
Mrs.  Mary  O.  Davis  came  to  him  as  his 
housekeeper  and  remained  with  him  until 
his  death.  She  more  than  any  other 
living  person  was  his  confidante,  and 
deserved  to  be  so.  When  she  came  to 
Mickle  Street  to  live  with  Mr.  Whitman, 
she  found,  as  I  can  testify,  dirt  to  be 
supreme.  Mr.  Whitman  was  cooking  a 
bite  over  a  small  coal  oil  stove,  at  the 
risk  of  his  life.  His  table  was  a  large 
dry  goods  box,  and  the  house  was  almost 
devoid  of  furniture.  His  first  friends  and 
joint  house  occupants  removed  their  fur 
niture  when  they  left  his  house.  His 
bedroom  was  the  only  completely  fur 
nished  room  in  the  Mickle  Street  house 
when  Mrs.  Davis  entered  it.  She  was  his 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.       251 

loyal  friend  and  nurse.  She  stood  by  him 
in  life,  and  closed  his  eyes  in  death.  She  j 
had  an  affection  for  Mr.  Whitman  which 
made  care  of  him  a  pleasure.  The  night 
Mr.  Whitman  died  I  called  at  the  Mickle 
Street  house,  Carnden,  and  found  her  ex 
hausted  and  in  bed,  crying  like  a  child. 
Her  positive  friendship  for  Mr.  Whitman 
incurred  the  displeasure  of  some  of  the 
later  friends  of  Mr.  Whitman.  Why  this 
was  so,  I  cannot  write.  Mr.  Whitman,  in 
his  bad  physical  condition,  for  five  years 
previous  to  his  death,  was  compelled  to 
receive  close  attentions  from  persons  some 
of  whom  he  did  not  otherwise  particularly 
care  for.  This  he  confided  to  one  or  two 
of  his  friends  and  to  Mrs.  Davis  ;  still 
necessity  forced  him  to  submit.  Mrs. 
Davis,  perhaps,  in,  or  by  some  acts,  indi 
cated  her  knowledge  of  this  fact.  Some 
of  these  new  friends,  in  their  earnest  zeal 
to  do  Mr.  Whitman  service,  did  annoy 
him,  but  it  was  honestly  meant.  With 
knowledge  of  Mr.  Whitman's  views  as  to 
them  she  may  have  angered  some  of  the 
later  friends  of  Mr.  Whitman.  Some 
times  women  are  not  as  tactful  in  such 


252  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

matters  as  men.  Mr.  Whitman's  friends 
she  never  angered.  Friends  to  Mr.  Whit 
man  she  considered  a  different  class.  Be 
this  as  it  was,  "Mary"  was  Mr.  Whit 
man's  constant  call  while  ill,  and  as  the 
shadow  of  death  crossed  over  him,  faith 
ful  Mary  Davis  was  by  him. 

Great  men,  or  those  before  the  public, 
have  legions  of  attracted  friends,  worship, 
ers,  or  followers.  Mr.  Whitman  had 
many  such.  He  had  a  few  all-weather 
friends.  These  he  held  on  to  with  bands 
of  iron.  Perhaps  it  will  be  best  to  make 
the  above  a  little  plainer. 

During  the  last  three  or  four  years  of 
Mr.  Whitman's  life  he  was  very  despond 
ent,  physically,  and  sometimes  mentally. 
There  were  two  or  three  gentlemen  in 
Camden,  and  a  couple  of  ladies,  who  were 
attentive  to  him,  and  he  was  quite 
dependent  on  one  of  the  gentlemen.  It 
would  seem  that  Mr.  Whitman  was  never 
quite  able  to  make  this  gentleman,  a  well- 
meaning  and  sincere  man,  understand 
that  he  desired  to  be  alone  about  twenty- 
three  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four.  That 
he  did  not  understand  this  was  probably 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.       253 

due  to  his  own  neglect  to  observe. 
During  the  last  three  months  of  his 
life  he  wanted  to  be  let  alone,  and  left 
alone.  After  January  1  and  to  March 
26,  1892,  when  he  died,  he  sent  almost 
constant  messages  of  love  and  cheer  to 
his  friends. 

Mr.  Whitman,  the  last  month  or  two 
of  his  life,  asked  Mrs.  Davis  and  Mr. 
Pritzinger,  his  nurse,  to  see  that  no  one 
entered  his  room  but  persons  whom  he 
asked.  This,  when  conveyed  in  the  third 
person,  angered  one  or  more  gentlemen 
who  had  been  presumably  close  to  Mr. 
Whitman.  They  had  been  very  useful 
to  him  I  personally  know,  and  some 
feeling  against  Mrs.  Davis  and  Mr.  Frit- 
zinger  was  the  result.  Mr.  Whitman  did 
not  want  to  be  constantly  asked  ques 
tions,  and  for  the  month  before  he  died 
he  answered,  as  a  rule,  only  his  nurse, 
Mrs.  Davis,  and  his  physicians.  One 
gentleman  was  frequently  kept  in  the 
small  room  in  the  rear  of  Mr.  Whitman's 
bedroom.  It  was  seldom  he  ever  got  a 
look  at  or  talk  with  Mr.  Whitman 
while  he  was  conscious  during  the  last 


254  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

three  weeks  of  his  life.  Mr.  Whitman 
was  thankful  and  grateful,  but  his 
physical  condition  compelled  him  to 
accept  services  which,  had  he  been 
stronger,  he  would  have  done  for  him 
self.  He  was  grateful  but  not  confi 
dential.  He  leaned  upon  himself,  Mrs. 
Davis,  and  a  half  dozen  old  friends,  for 
whom  he  had. only  to  "rub  the  lamp." 

While  I  sat  in  Mrs.  Davis'  chamber 
with  her  son,  she,  worn  out,  lying  on 
the  bed,  the  night  after  Mr.  Whitman's 
death,  March  27,  1892,  we  could  hear  the 
doctors  below  talking  and  chatting  while 
they  were  making  a  post-mortem  on  Mr. 
Whitman's  body.  There  was  a  gentle 
man  present  with  them  making  notes  at 
every  movement.  He  had  been  doing 
this  about  the  house  for  some  days  before. 
He  usually  carried  about  with  him  a  tablet 
and  pencil,  and  down  went  anything  that 
occurred  which  he  considered  sufficiently 
important  to  note.  He  was  a  zealous, 
earnest  man,  who,  by  reason  of  youth  and 
inexperience,  did  not  at  all  times  convey, 
by  speech  and  acts,  what  he  really  in 
tended.  This  subjected  him  to  criticism, 


MB.  WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.      255 

in  many  instances  undeserved.  One  day, 
toward  the  end  of  Mr.  Whitman's  life, 
the  tablet  and  pencil  became  fearfully 
apparent  to  him.  Mr.  Whitman  inti 
mated  to  his  nurse  that  the  gentleman 
should  find  other  employment,  while 
about  his  house,  than  standing  on  the 
edge  of  doorways  looking  and  listen 
ing  for  last  words  and  last  breaths. 
Orders  given  to  "Warry"  and  Mrs. 
Davis  to  curtail,  for  periods,  at  least,  the 
times  of  bedroom  visits,  were  considered 
as  their  interference.  The  order  was  Mr. 
Whitman's.  He  wanted  rest.  During 
his  sleepless  nights  he  had  apparitions  of 
seeing  a  last-word  and  last-breath  chron 
icler  in  the  edge  of  the  doorway,  under 
the  bed,  or  behind  the  stove.  Those  who 
have  had  experience  with  very  sick  per 
sons,  indisposed  to  sleep,  or  have  been 
that  way  themselves,  can  easily  imagine 
how  a  diseased  or  worn  mind  would  easily 
pick  out  some  object,  or  event,  which 
would  become  a  nightmare.  This  "  tab 
let"  in  Mr.  Whitman's  mind  became  por 
tentous.  It  threatened  to  fall  upon  and 
smother  him.  He  was  always,  in  the 


256  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

half-awake  moments  of  the  last  few  weeks 
of  his  life,  dodging  it.  One  day,  when  of 
unusually  clear  and  lucid  mind,  he  asked 
Warry  what  the  discussion  was  outside 
his  chamber  door.  Warry  replied  :  "Oh, 
that's  Mr.  -  -  talking  about  the  non- 
arrival  of  some  flowers  from  New  York." 
"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Whitman,  rising,  "Oh, 
he  be  -  -!"  Those  about  the 

Whitman  house  thought  that  Mr.  Whit 
man  imagined  that  the  tablet  or  writing 
pad  was  falling  on  him,  as  he  was  dying, 
and  to  avert  it  he  tried  to  pull  the  rope 
above  his  head  to  ring  the  bell  for  help. 

Mrs.  Davis  was  much  opposed  to  the 
post-mortem  on  Mr.  Whitman's  body.  Of 
course,  she  had  no  legal  right  to  object. 
Mrs.  George  Whitman  was  consulted  as  to 
this  and,  it  was  understood,  consented. 
Mrs.  Davis  had  the  impression  that  the 
post-mortem  was  chiefly  for  curiosity,  or 
for  a  news  item  for  the  papers,  or  for  a 
book.  She  thought  that,  as  he  was  dead, 
after  years  of  suffering  and  the  cause  of  it 
so  well  known,  he  ought  to  be  permitted 
to  be  buried  in  peace.  During  tlie  post 
mortem  below  (it  was  in  the  back  parlor), 


ME.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.       257 

I  detected  the  odor  of  a  fearful  pipe.  It 
might  have  been  from  the  street,  and  it 
might  not  have  been.  Mr.  Whitman  was 
not  smoking,  I  was  sure.  Still,  everyone 
to  his  trade.  Doctors  in  the  interest  of 
humanity  carve  and  cut  human  bodies  as 
butchers  do  meat,  and  it  becomes  a  matter- 
of-fact,  indifferent  matter.  Of  the  physi 
cians  who  attended  Mr.  Whitman  for 
years,  not  one  ever  presented  a  bill. 
Among  them  was  Dr.  Wm.  Osier,  Dr. 
Daniel  Longaker  of  Philadelphia,  and 
Dr.  Alexander  McAlister  of  Camden. 
The  two  last  named  attended  him  during 
his  fatal  sickness.  He  was  grateful  to 
them  and  they  were  kind  to  him. 

Mr.  Whitman  was  a  philosopher  if 
contemplation  of  death  was  a  cheerful 
duty,  and  preparation  for  it  as  well. 
He  always  had  it  in  mind,  and  chatted 
about  it  at  times  to  me  as  freely  as  about 
other  matters 

One  winter  night,  late  in  1889,  I  called 
upon  him  with  a  friend.  He  was  sitting 
by  the  stove  with  his  hat  on  in  his  bed 
room  upstairs;  over  his  legs  was  thrown 
a  blanket.  The  light  on  the  table,  near 


258  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

Sit  hand,  was  a  gas  drop-light,  with  an 
argand  burner — with  a  chipped  glass- 
top—hanging  at  an  angle  of  10°  to 
its  holder.  It  was  queer  looking,  and 
seemed  to  me  on  the  point  of  dropping. 
"  Let  her  alone,  Tom,  let  her  alone ! 
She's  been  that  way  for  some  months. 
Old  things  and  old  friends  are  best !  "  I 
am  not  sure  but  what  it  was  Christmas 
night,  1889.  He  was  cheerful,  but  said 
that  he  was  cold  and  chilly,  that  he  had 
been  out  riding  during  the  day  to  a  rural 
spot  and  picked  out  his  grave.  ' '  Well, ' '  I 
replied,  "cheerful  occupation,  eh!"  "Yes, 
yes  ;  still  we  must  get  ready.  But,  I  am 
not  going  to  die  yet  a  while,  only  getting 
the  case  ready  for  this  old  hulk.  I  am 
offered  any  location  I  like.  I  have  picked 
out  a  bit  of  a  hill,  with  a  southern  expo 
sure,  among  the  trees.  I  like  to  be  with 
the  trees.  The  name  of  the  cemetery  is 
Harleigh — not  a  pretty  name  !  A  family 
name,  I  believe,  and  of  the  persons  who 
once  owned  the  land.  Yes,  I  think  I 
have  selected  a  comfortable  grave."  This 
was  all  said  with  a  twinkle  of  humor  and 
in  a  cheerful  manner. 


MR.  WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.      259 

He  seemed  intent,  as  given  in  one  con 
versation,  upon  building  a  tomb  in  which 
should  be  placed  his  entire  family ;  posi 
tively,  his  father  and  mother.  I  sug 
gested  that,  if  so,  then  their  bodies  had 
best  be  moved  during  his  lifetime.  "  But 
the  vault  will  not  be  ready."  Mr.  Whit 
man  had  a  friend  get  up  the  plan  of  the 
vault  and  then  let  the  contract  for  its 
erection.  After  his  death,  one  of  his  ex 
ecutors,  Mr.  Thomas  B.  Harned,  forced 
the  contractor  to  reduce  the  bill,  which 
was  said  to  be  very  exorbitant.  This  also 
proved  Mr.  Whitman's  oft-repeated  re 
mark  as  to  the  growing  shrewdness  of 
American  tradesmen,  verging  on  "ram 
pant  dishonesty,  and  that  they  would 
soon  consider  even  robbing  the  dead  to  be 
a  virtue  ;  that  haste  to  get  rich  was  with 
some  of  them  warrant  for  all  acts,  dis 
honest  or  otherwise." 

Mr.  Whitman's  last  illness  was  terrible 
in  the  misery  it  entailed  on  him.  How 
hard  the  Anglo-Saxon  dies !  I  received 
word  December  19,  1891,  that  Mr. 
Whitman  wanted  to  see  me — others 
of  his  friends  were  desirous  of  seeing 


260  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

him,  but  were  denied.  I  made  a  minute 
of  this  visit  to  him,  at  once  after  I 
left  him  ;  all  of  the  interview  is  not 
given  : 

PHILADELPHIA,  PA.,  December  20,  1891. 
Went  over  to  Camden  to-night  and  arrived  at 
Walt  Whitman's  house  about  twenty  minutes 
before  seven  o'clock.  The  door  was  ajar  and  I 
walked  into  the  hallway  unannounced.  I  did 
not  ring  the  bell,  for  fear  it  might  disturb  him. 
Mrs.  Davis  came  out  of  the  parlor  when  she  heard 
my  footsteps  and  said,  u  How  strange  !  I  was 
this  minute  thinking  of  you."  In  answer  to  my 
inquiry  she  said  that  Mr.  Whitman  was  apparently 
sinking  fast  arid  the  two  physicians  had  told  her, 
about  half -past  five,  that  he  might  live  four  days; 
but  it  hardly  seemed  probable,  as  his  right  lung  was 
about  solid  and  the  left  one  was  involved;  in  fact, 
his  whole  system  was  going  fast.  Mr.  Whitman, 
she  said,  had  not  seen  any  person  except  the  phy 
sicians  and  Warren,  her  son  (his  nurse),  and  her 
self  for  three  days.  He  had  ordered  her  to  permit 
no  one  else  to  see  him;  "  but  he  wants  to  see  you," 
she  added,  "and  left  word  that  when  you  came  to 
admit  you  at  once.  So,  come  right  upstairs."  I 
led  the  way,  and  she  followed,  crying  and  sobbing 
as  we  went  up  the  stairway.  I  entered  his  room 
in  the  second  story  through  the  small  door  of  the 
back  bedroom.  Mrs.  Davis  preceded  me  here  and, 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.      261 

walking  to  the  foot  of  his  bed,  the  head  of  which 
was  against  the  west  wall  of  the  room,  said,  '  'Mr. 
Whitman,  Mr.  Donaldson  is  here."  He  spoke  up 
quickly  and  said,  "  Who  ? "  and  she  replied,  "Mr. 
Donaldson. "  Mr.  Whitman  reached  out  his  right 
hand,  said,  "Oh,  it's  Tom!  How  are  you,  anyway?  " 
"Pretty  well,"  I  answered,  "but  what  a  strong 
voice  you  have.  I  supposed  from  what  I  heard  that 
you  were  very  ill."  "  I  am,"  he  replied.  "Turn 
up  the  light  at  the  left  of  the  bed  and  sit  down 
in  that  rocking  chair."  I  did  as  he  directed  and 
under  the  strong  flame  of  the  drop  light  obtained 
a  good  look  at  him.  He  was  lying  upon  his  back, 
and  breathing  with  great  difficulty.  His  throat 
was  choked  with  phlegm  and  his  efforts  to  raise 
it  were  painful.  He  lay  with  his  eyes  open,  and 
looked  so  small  that  one  could  not  imagine  that  he 
was  the  Walt  Whitman  of  old.  He  had  fallen 
away  from  two  hundred  pounds  in  weight  to  about 
one  hundred  and  forty.  His  voice  was  strong  and 
clear  :  after  speaking  a  few  words  he  would  rest, 
and  then  begin  the  conversation  again.  When  I 
would  speak  to  him  he  would  rouse  himself  up  as 
if  from  a  sleep  and  answer,  and  then  speak  out 
with  vigor.  His  mind  was  clear,  and  never  a 
thought  muddled.  His  sense  of  hearing  seemed 
to  have  increased,  for  he  heard  everything  that 
went  on  in  or  about  the  house.  The  high  color 
on  his  cheeks  was  as  pronounced  as  usual,  and 
his  long  white  hair  and  beard,  streaming  over 
his  face,  shoulders,  and  breast,  made  him  more  pic- 


262          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

turesque  than  ever.  His  lost  flesh  made  the  Gre 
cian  form  of  his  nose  more  apparent,  increased  the 
strength  of  his  head,  and  made  his  resemblance  to 
Tennyson's  portrait  more  marked  than  ever  before. 
The  room  as  usual  contained  an  immense  amount 
of  poetic  litter,  newspapers,  manuscripts,  and 
books.  The  small  stove  on  the  east  side  of  the 
room  was  kept  well  fired  up  with  small  pine  and 
oak  wood,  and  just  in  front  of  it  lay  several  arm- 
fuls  of  bright  fresh  pine.  I  sat  in  a  comfortable 
cane-bottomed  rocking  chair,  to  the  left  of  the 
head  of  the  bed,  with  a  round  center-table  between 
me  and  the  window.  On  this  was  a  drop-light 
with  an  argand  burner.  Mr.  Whitman's  gray 
hat,  a  broad-rimmed  felt  slouch,  lay  on  a  table  in 
front  of  me,  together  with  a  pile  of  books.  To  the 
right  of  the  bed  against  the  west  wall  was  a  trunk ; 
on  the  top  of  this  sat  a  bottle  of  whisky,  a  bottle 
of  cologne  (often  referred  to,  which  I  had  sent 
him),  an  old-fashioned  stoneware  mug,  with  a 
spoon,  a  brass  candlestick,  with  a  candle  and 
matches.  Near  the  head  of  the  bed  was  his  cane, 
with  which  he  used  to  pound  upon  the  floor  to 
attract  attention  when  he  wanted  anything. 

This  man  is  the  most  peculiar  person  I  ever 
knew.  While  he  delighted  in  the  companionship 
of  men  and  children,  and  sometimes  women,  he 
seemed  to  have  two  selves,  and  found  more  delight 
apparently  in  hours  of  entire  loneliness,  in  which 
he  seemed  in  thought  to  be  away  from  earth  and 
all  its  surroundings  and  with  his  other  self;  what 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.      263 

his  thoughts  were  while  in  this  condition,  if  any, 
no  one  could  fathom.  As  I  sat  watching  him, 
breathing  heavily,  and  holding  on  to  and  parting 
with  life  at  the  same  time,  his  whole  life  work, 
history,  and  results  passed  in  review.  This  man 
would  have  made  a  great  business  man ;  cunning, 
shrewd,  and  upright,  he  would  have  been  a 
masterful  man  in  commerce.  One  thing  which 
he  possessed  might  have  militated  against  this, 
however :  he  was  strictly  honest.  As  the  moments 
lengthened  and  his  slight  hold  on  life  became 
more  apparent  to  me,  the  thought  arose,  will  this 
man  have  a  place  in  history,  literature,  or  in  the 
affairs  of  men  ?  and  the  answer  came  involun 
tarily,  Yes,  a  decided  and  a  positive  one,  from  any 
and  every  point  of  view.  His  simplicity  of  life, 
his  strength  of  character,  his  positive  opinion, 
and  the  continuity  of  his  work,  will  make  him  an 
integer,  not  a  cipher,  in  the  future  literature  of 
the  Republic.  After  a  time  he  turned  his  head 
around  and,  continuing  my  greeting  of  five 
minutes  before:  "Well,  two  doctors  have  just 
been  here,  and  examined  me,  and  say  this  is  the 
end,  and  I  think  so.  My  systen)  is  about  gone, 
and  my  lungs,  as  you  see,  are  involved ;"  and  after 
a  pause  he  said,  "  How  are  your  wife  and  children, 
the  boy  and  the  girls  ?  "  After  telling  him  that 
they  sent  him  their  love  and  that  they  were  pretty 
well,  "Give  them  my  love;  I  always  recall  them 
with  affection."  After  a  talk  which  concerned 
ourselves  he  continued,  "  And  now  tell  me,  what 


264  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

have  you  been  doing  lately ;  on  the  Indians  still  ?  " 
I  detailed  about  the  Indian  bulletins  that  I  was 
preparing  for  the  Census  and  the  final  report,  to 
which  he  added,  "Oh,  sort  of  a  supplemental 
work  to  your  Catlin."  Then  he  paused,  arid 
closed  his  eyes  a  bit.  I  thought  he  was  sleeping, 
when  after  a  long  pause  he  spoke  up  sharply  and 
quickly,  "  Indians !  I  suppose  we  are  never  to  get 
rid  of  that  word.  I  suppose  it  is  so  engrafted  on 
the  language  that  it  never  can  be  gotten  rid  of. 
It's  all  wrong ;  they  deserve  a  better  name ;  they 
got  the  name  Indians  from  the  fact  that  Columbus 
and  Americus  Vespucius  and  other  early  naviga 
tors  supposed  they  were  sailing  to  some  portions  of 
the  Indies  and  so  called  the  aborigines  Indians.  It 
is  as  much  a  misnomer  as  the  word  '  American.' 
These  people  deserved  a  higher,  a  more  distinct 
and  a  more  meaning  name,  one  relating  to  their 
aboriginal  or  pre-Columbian  times,  one  which 
would  be  significant  that  they  were  the  possessors 
and  owners  of  the  continent  prior  to  the  advent 
of  the  Europeans."  Then  another  three-minute 
pause.  He  looked  around  at  me,  and  I  mentioned 
the  fact  that  a  few  days  before  I  had  been  in  the 
office  of  Colonel  Robert  G.  Ingersoll,  in  New 
York,  and  that  the  colonel  had  read  to  me  from  a 
new  edition  of  "  Leaves  of  Grass,"  dated  1892,  a 
poem  which  he  admired  very  much.  Mr.  Whit 
man  quickly  asked,  "  Which  one  was  it  ?  "  "  The 
one  to  your  mother."  He  drew  a  long  sigh  and 
said,  "Ah!"  "Colonel  Ingersoll  seemed  to 
think  that  three  or  four  of  your  poems  contained 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.       265 

the  philosophy  of  your  work."  Here  he  relapsed 
into  the  quiet  state  again.  I  sat  still  and  watched 
him  closely.  He  placed  his  left  arm  above  his 
head  as  if  to  keep  the  reflection  of  the  light  out, 
and  breathed  slowly  and  heavily.  After  a  time 
he  spoke  up  as  one  would  who  had  returned  from 
a  long  journey,  and  as  if  the  subject  was  just  new, 
said  :  "  After  all  I  suspect  every  fellow  knows  all 
about  my  work;  he  does  if  he  only  would  think 
he  did."  This  gave  me  an  opportunity.  "You 
know  I  intend  to  write  about  you  and  your  poetry, 
and  I  suppose  I  know  as  much  about  you  as 
anybody  else."  "Yes,"  he  answered  promptly, 
"  surely  you  do,  and  I  guess  you  understand  my 
work  as  well  as  anybody  else.  I  have  just  done 
my  work  because  I  believed  in  it.  My  method  has 
been  to  let  it  come,  and  not  curb  it  or  draw  the 
rein  too  tight.  There  is  no  secret  in  it  or  about  it. 
So  I  guess  you  understand  it  as  well  as  anyone, 
or  as  I  do.  When  I  was  a  boy  I  frequented  the 
theaters,  and  once  I  saw  a  long  five-act  drama, 
quite  bloody  and  fierce  and  with  much  expectation. 
The  leading  character  was  a  prodigiously  quaint 
old  fellow  who  lugged  a  secret  around  with  him. 
It  was  in  a  pack  on  his  back,  and  some  who  ex 
pected  to  be  heirs  watched  this  secret  with  eager 
ness.  One  day  the  old  fellow  died,  and  lo !  the 
pack  contained  no  secret.  And  this  is  my  work ; 
there  is  no  secret  about,  or  in  it.  Some  think 
there  is  and  so  some  are  expectant  and  have  been 
so,  but  there  is  none." 

Then  he  dropped  off  again  into  quietude.      I 


266  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

watched  him  for  a  time  and  then  slowly  arose  in 
my  chair  and  turned  the  light  down  a  bit,  He 
was  watching  me  all  the  time,  or  knew  my  move 
ments.  "So,"  he  said,  "you  are  going.  Well, 
give  my  love  to  yours,"  and  as  I  walked  around 
the  bed  to  the  south  side  of  it,  he  reached  out  his 
right  hand.  It  was  dry  and  heated,  and  holding 
mine  in  it  with  a  firm  grasp,  he  said  slowly: 
"Give  my  love  and  best  remembrance  to  all 
friends  in  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  Washing 
ton."  I  replied  that  I  would,  and  as  I  dropped 
his  hand,  said  :  "Now,  Mr.  Whitman,  if  there  is 
anything  you  need  or  want  from  a  needle  to  an 
anchor,  command  us — and  it's  yours."  "Thank 
you,  I  know  that,  Tom,  and  so  good-by."  "  No,  I 
won't  say  good-by,  I  will  say  good-night,  and  don't 
forget  me."  "  As  you  like,"  he  answered.  "  Please 
close  the  door  a  bit  when  you  go  out,  and  good 
night  again."  I  passed  through  the  door,  never 
to  hear  his  voice  again.  It  was  the  same  hearty 
and  manly  voice  when  I  left  him  forever,  that  I 
had  heard  for  many  years.  And  so  I  passed  down 
stairs  and  out,  after  bidding  Mrs.  Davis  good 
night. 

All  through  the  period  from  December, 
1891,  to  March  26,  1892,  the  day  of  his 
death,  I  was  advised  of  Mr.  Whitman's 
condition.  His  desire  to  be  alone  was 
always  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  those 
whom  he  called  his  friends,  so  they  kept 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.      267 

away  from  him  ;  they  were  informed  by 
the  constant  Mary  Davis  of  his  condition. 
All  knew  that  his  end  was  a  matter  of 
a  few  weeks  at  most,  and  as  he  slowly 
lingered  they  patiently  waited  the  end. 

I  was  the  last  person  Mr.  Whitman 
spoke  of  before  his  death.  I  had  written 
Mary  Davis,  at  Camden,  I  think,  the 
morning  of  Mr.  Whitman's  death,  i.  e., 
Saturday,  March  26,  1892,  asking  if  any 
thing  could  be  done  for  his  comfort,  and 
if  so,  to  command  it.  In  a  reply  to  this 
she  answered  me,  not  thinking  Mr.  Whit 
man  was  then  within  three  hours  of  death: 

AT  HOME, 

3  P.  M.,  Saturday,  March  26,  1892. 
DEAR  MR.  DONALDSON  : 

Mr.  W.  is  slowly  but  surely  slipping  away  from 
us ;  is  very  weak,  helpless,  and  restless.  Some  of 
his  friends  bought  a  water  bed  for  him.  He  has 
been  on  it  since  Thursday  midnight  and  he  seems 
more  comfortable.  The  last  twenty-four  hours 
that  he  was  on  the  hair  mattress  he  was  turned 
sixty-four  times,  thirty-one  times  during  Warren's 
watch,  which  is  from  11  P.  M.  to  11  A.  M.,  and 
thirty-three  times  in  mine,  which  is  from  11  A.  M. 
to  11  P.  M.  daily.  I  read  your  letter  to  him  just 
now.  He  smiled  and  said:  "Oh!  he's  a  dear 
good  fellow." 


268  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

This  letter  was  written  at  3  p.  M.  Mr. 
Whitman  died  at  6.43  P.  M.  of  the  same 
day. 

There  was  a  most  pathetic  incident  con 
nected  with  Mr. Whitman's  death.  It  was 
related  to  me  by  "Warry"  Fritzinger, 
his  nurse.  Warry  had  arranged  a  rope 
above  Mr.  Whitman's  head,  in  the  bed, 
which  was  attached  to  a  bell  below.  He 
would  pull  this  rope,  after  he  became 
weak,  and  thus  ring  the  bell  to  attract 
attention.  Prior  to  this  time,  he  had 
used  his  heavy  cane  to  pound  the  floor 
with.  This  brought  assistance  at  once. 
Just  before  he  died,  as  the  great  change 
came  over  him— he  was  conscious  that  it 
was  a  great  change,  a  something  unusual 
(Mrs.  Davis  and  Warry  were  by  his 
side), — he  seemed  as  if  groping  for  some 
thing.  Death  had  called  for  him,  and  as 
the  call  came  he  attempted  to  reach  above 
his  head  with  one  of  his  hands  and  arm 
and  feel  for  the  rope,  as  if  to  call  for 
help.  In  an  instant  the  arm  dropped  and 
soon  he  was  dead. 

There  were  present  at  Mr.  Whitman's 
death  Mrs.  Mary  0-  Davis,  on  whom 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.      269 

the  charge  of  Mr.  Whitman  had  rested 
for  his  entire  illness,  and  Warren 
("Warry")  Fritzinger,  her  son  and  the 
favorite  nurse.  He  received  the  last 
words  of  the  dying  man. 

Dr.  Alexander  McAlister,  the  attending 
physician  :  Thomas  B.  Earned,  a  friend 
and  a  true  one  ;  and  Mr.  Horace  L.  Trau- 
bel,  were  also  present.  They  were  hastily 
summoned  by  Mrs.  Davis  when  the  end 
seemed  at  hand. 

Mr.  Horace  L.  Traubel  is  a  young  gen 
tleman  of  Camden,  with  literary  standing, 
who  attached  himself  to  Mr.  Whitman  a 
few  years  before  his  death  and  remained 
faithful  to  the  end.  He  did  a  vast  amount 
of  work  for  Mr.  Whitman  in  all  fields, 
and  without  fee  or  reward.  He  deserves 
the  sincere  thanks  of  Mr.  Whitman's 
friends  for  his  self-sacrificing  spirit  in 
this  connection.  The  post-mortem  on  the 
body  of  Mr.  Whitman,  held  by  Professor 
Henry  W.  Cattell,  in  the  presence  of  Dr. 
Daniel  Longaker,  Professor  F.  X.  Dercum, 
and  Dr.  Alexander  McAlister,  at  Mr. 
Whitman's  house  on  the  evening  of  March 
27,  1892,  showed  that  Mr.  Whitman's 


270  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

death  was  due  to  ''Pleurisy  of  the  left 
side,  consumption  of  the  right  lung, 
general  miliary  tuberculosis,  and  paren- 
chymatous  nephritis,"  any  one  of  which 
would  have  probably  killed  an  ordinary 
man  of  Mr.  Whitman's  age. 

I  was  a  pall-bearer  at  the  funeral  of 
Walt  Whitman,  March  31,  1892.  He 
had  requested  it.  On  my  road  to  Mr. 
Whitman's,  house,  where  the  services 
were  called  for  2  P.  M. — the  body  was 
viewed  from  11  A.  M.  to  2  p.  M. — I  met  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  E.  Gr.  Ingersoll  in  a  coupe  on  the 
Jersey  side  of  the  Market  Street  Ferry 
about  one  o'clock,  stranded.  The  coupe 
driver  from  Philadelphia  did  not  know 
a  street  in  Camden.  Colonel  Ingersoll 
hailed  me  from  the  cab  window  and  asked 
me  to  tell  him  the  way  to  Whitman's. 
He  was  just  from  a  long  journey.  I  think 
he  had  been  at  Rochester  or  Syracuse  the 
day  before,  and  looked  tired.  I  directed 
him  to  the  house  and  he  drove  on.  I 
reached  the  Whitman  house,  No.  328 
Mickle  Street,  about  the  time  that  Colonel 
Ingersoll  did.  We  entered  together.  The 
house  was  crowded.  Mrs.  Ingersoll  stood 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.      271 

near  me  in  the  small  hallway  on  the  west 
side  of  the  house.  I  called  her  attention 
to  Mr.  Whitman's  calm  look  as  the  light 
streamed  in  from  a  near  window  and  over 
his  face.  She  called  to  the  colonel  by 
a  beck  and  he  came  to  us.  "Don't  you 
want  to  see  him,  Robert?"  "No,  I  do 
not."  I  said,  "  Come,  I  will  go  in  with 
you."  So  he  and  I  walked  into  the  small 
back  parlor  where  Mr.  Whitman  lay, 
dressed  in  gray  and  with  his  head  to  the 
south.  Some  three  lots  of  flowers  lay  on 
the  oak  coffin,  which  exposed  him  to  his 
waist.  Colonel  Ingersoll  looked  at  him 
a  moment  and  then  turned  his  head 
away.  Just  as  he  did  so  a  head  passed 
between  us,  and  Moncure  D.  Conway 
said:  "How  Rembrandt  would  have 
liked  to  have  painted  that  face  ! " 

It  was  a  picturesque  one  and  not  at  all 
disagreeable  in  color  or  features. 

George  Whitman,  his  brother,  stood 
opposite  the  coffin,  and  when  the  call  was 
made  by  the  funeral  director  for  the 
friends,  he  leaned  over  the  casket  and 
kissed  Walt  Whitman's  head  a  dozen 
times.  Mrs.  Whitman,  his  wife,  was 


272  WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

much  affected,  but  poor  Mrs.  Davis,  the 
housekeeper,  showed  the  most  grief  and 
pain.  There  was  very  little  curiosity 
shown  by  the  persons  in  the  house.  The 
two  pall-bearers  at  the  head  of  the  coffin 
were  J.  H.  Stoddart  and  Julius  Chambers. 
The  pall-bearers,  honorary  and  active  (six 
acted  as  active  pall-carriers),  as  announced, 
were  George  W.  Childs,  Julian  Haw 
thorne,  Robert  G.  Ingersoll,  Horace 
Howard  Furness,  Dr.  Daniel  G.  Brinton, 
John  Burroughs,  Lincoln  L.  Eyre,  J.  H. 
Johnston,  N.  Y.,  J.  H.  Stoddart,  Francis 
Howard  Williams,  Dr.  R.  M.  Bucke, 
Talcott  Williams,  T.  B.  Harned,  Horace 
L.  Traubel,  Judge  Charles  G.  Gar 
rison,  H.  L.  Bonsall,  Rev.  J.  H. 
Clifford,  Harrison  S.  Morris,  Richard 
W.  Gilder,  H.  D.  Bush,  Julius  Chambers, 
Thomas  Eakins,  Hon.  A.  G.  Cattell,  Ed 
mund  Clarence  Stedman,  David  McKay, 
and  Thomas  Donaldson.  The  cemetery 
was  about  two  miles  from  the  house. 
There  was  nothing  remarkable  at  the 
cemetery  except  the  very  large  concourse 
of  well-behaved  and  well-dressed  people. 
A  tent  had  been  erected  (its  sides  or  walls 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.      273 

were  up)  in  anticipation  of  rain.  This 
was  about  five  hundred  feet  from  the 
Whitman  tomb,  and  under  it  the  speaking 
was  had.  The  rain  did  not  come,  but 
instead  a  lovely  day — one  Walt  Whitman 
would  have  enjoyed.  A  platform  at  the 
south  end  of  the  tent  contained  four  chairs 
and  a  table.  These  chairs  were  occupied 
by  Dr.  D.  G.  Brinton,  Francis  Howard 
Williams,  Thomas  B.  Earned,  and  Dr. 
R.  M.  Bucke,  all  of  whom  took  some  part 
in  the  exercises.  Faithful  John  Bur 
roughs  was  also  near  by.  A  few  ferns  and 
palms,  grouped  about  the  platform,  com 
pleted  the  floral  display.  Chairs  were 
placed  for  the  ladies.  Mr.  Whitman  lay 
with  his  head  to  the  south  and  close  to  the 
platform.  In  the  tent  there  was  given  a 
curiously  made-up  programme  of  ceremo 
nies — a  variety  of  quotations  and  oratory. 
There  was  no  music  or  singing,  only  read 
ing  and  speaking.  Francis  Howard  Wil 
liams  acted  as  reader,  and  opened  the 
funeral  ceremonies  by  reading  from  Mr. 
Whitman  on  "  Death."  Then  Mr.  Har- 
ned  read  his  paper.  Mr.  Williams  fol 
lowed,  reading  extracts  from  Confucius, 


274  WALT  WHITMAN,  THE  MAN. 

Gautama,  and  Jesus  Christ.  Next  Dr. 
Brinton,  and  Mr.  Williams  again,  with 
readings  from  the  Koran,  Isaiah,  and 
John.  Dr.  Bucke  read  his  paper  on  Mr. 
Whitman.  Mr.  Williams  then  read  from 
the  Zend-Avesta  and  Plato.  Colonel  In- 
gersoll  followed,  and  this  closed  the  cere 
monies.  The  ceremony  had  the  fault  of 
being  obnoxious  to  the  criticism  that  it 
might  seem  to  be  gotten  up  to  meet 
the  humors  of  certain  local  people.  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  Mr.  Harned  made 
the  most  practical  of  the  addresses.  Dr. 
Brinton' s  was  also  good.  Colonel  Inger- 
soll,  it  seemed  to  me,  started  on  too  high 
a  plane,  by  saying,  "The  most  eminent 
citizen  of  the  Republic."  He  could  have 
said  with  truth,  "One  of  the  most  emi 
nent  men,  in  letters,  of  the  Republic." 
He  spoke  without  notes  ;  the  others  read 
from  type-written  memoranda.  He  was 
earnest,  and  his  eyes  filled,  while  his  voice 
broke  several  times.  Of  course  his  man 
ner,  oratory,  and  splendid  rhetoric  made 
the  contrast  between  himself  and  the 
others  painful.  The  ceremonies  were  short 
— less  than  an  hour  and  a  quarter.  When 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.      275 

Mr.  Whitman's  body,  preceded  by  the 
pall-bearers,  was  taken  from  the  tent  and 
to  the  vault  along  a  people-lined  path, 
the  honorary  pall-bearers  formed  in  two 
lines  in  front  of  its  door  and  the  body 
passed  through  and  was  placed  in  the 
niche  inside  by  the  undertaker's  men. 
Colonel  Ingersoll  stood  by  me  and  near 
the  door.  He  peeped  in  with  a  curious 
expression  on  his  face.  I  spoke  to  him, 
and  said  :  "  Well,  it's  the  last  of  our  old 
friend."  "Yes,"  he  softly  replied,  as 
he  turned  to  leave,  and  I  noticed  that  his 
eyes  were  running  with  tears.  The  vault 
was  hardly  completed,  and  looked  small 
inside.  At  4  p.  M.  we  were  back  in 
Philadelphia.  The  multitude  who  at 
tended  the  funeral  did  not  injure  or 
destroy  one  leaf  in  Harleigh  Cemetery. 

While  restlessly  walking  (the  night  of 
Mr.  Whitman's  funeral)  under  the  stars, 
— who  were  his  friends,  and  whom  he 
loved, — the  thought  came :  Does  such  a 
life  and  personality  end  when  the  curtain 
is  rung  down  ?  Are  .the  earthly  surround 
ings  which  he  left  all  that  is  to  be  ?  With 
this  thought  came  the  other  :  Why  are  we 


276          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

not  satisfied  with,  the  visible  results  and 
life  work  of  such  a  man,  without  attempt 
ing  to  lift  the  lid  and  look  into  the  casket 
of  mystery  which  may  or  may  not  hold 
the  transplanted  germ  of  life  ? 

Thought  is  immortal.  Good  or  evil, 
it  finds  ceaseless  repetition  and  con 
stant  reiteration,  and  will  as  long  as 
the  mind  shall  exist.  Why  query  at  all  ? 
for  who  would  be  happier  were  all  known  ? 
Is  it  not  best  that  we  do  not  know  ?  Then 
came  the  thought  as  to  the  man  Whit 
man  and  his  works.  Mr.  Whitman  did 
his  work  within  the  bounds  of  his  capac 
ity.  His  limitations  were  natural.  He 
could  not  reach  beyond  his  allotted  scope. 
Possessed  of  the  genius  of  true  poesy,  he 
curbed  his  verse  and  checked  his  rhyme, 
as  he  believed,  the  better  to  convey  his 
thoughts.  He  fought  his  battle  on  clear 
points.  His  base  was  level.  His  literary 
work,  in  his  view,  was  honestly  done  and 
had  Hope  and  Faith  for  its  background, 
and  was  intended  as  a  lesson  for  and  of 
life.  He  was  a  pioneer  over  some  rough 
and  untrodden  paths,  and  a  few  persons 
made  his  journey  rougher  than  was  neces- 


MR.   WHITMAN'S  LAST  ILLNESS.       277 

sary.  He  appreciated  friendship  and 
valued  love.  His  heart  was  as  broad  as  his 
literary  aims.  He  sang  for  love,  duty, 
good  cheer,  and  the  dignity  of  manhood, 
and  above  all  exhorted  self-reliance — on 
a  moral  basis.  He  was  honest,  just,  and 
brave.  He  was  a  misfit  in  character  and 
opinions  held  to  many  whose  depth  of  lit 
erary  appreciation  is  in  the  mere  name  of 
an  author,  and  his  method  was  decried 
merely  as  a  fad  by  some  bland  and  mag 
nesia-like  critics  who  did  not  honestly 
differ  with  him,  and  who  could  not  look 
without  shading  their  eyes  to  the  altitude 
where  he  lived  and  labored.  He  was  a 
singular  and  rugged  type  of  vigor,  pre 
science,  and  expression.  He  did  not  dis 
honor,  while  his  life  was  devoted  to  the 
welfare  of  his  fellows.  All  my  reflections 
as  to  him  bring  pleasant  memories  and 
awaken  kindly  thoughts.  No  sorrow 
came  to  me  at  his  departure  ;  instead, 
gladness.  Gladness  that  he  had  passed 
out  from  the  pain  and  ills  of  his  wretched 
body  and  that  his  spirit  dwelleth  with 
the  blessed.  Greater  men  have  passed 
over  ;  more  heroic  deaths  have  been  noted 


278          WALT  WHITMAN,    THE  MAN. 

and  placed  men  and  women  with  the 
world's  immortals,  but  when  Mr.  Whit 
man's  great  soul  was  unchained  from  earth, 
there  left  us  a  kindly,  earnest,  and  lovable 
nature  that  always  did  its  level  best  for 
man  and  his  cause.  As  his  spirit  passed 
through  the  archway  of  silence,  let  us 
hope  that  congenial  souls  became  happy 
in  anticipation  of  its  comradeship.  He 
was  human  and  with  human  frailties,  but 
his  purposes  were  pure  and  his  life's 
object  noble. 

With  an  ivy  wreath  there  lay  on  Mr. 
Whitman's  coffin  this : 

W.  W. 

Good-by,  Walt  ! 

Good-by,  from  all  you  loved  of  earth — 
Rock,  tree,  dumb  creature,  man  and  woman — 
To  you,  their  comrade  human, 

The  last  assault 

Ends  now  ;  and  now  in  some  great  world  has  birth 
A  minstrel,  whose  strong  soul  finds  broader  wings, 
More  brave  imaginings. 

Stars  crown  the  hilltop  where  your  dust  shall  lie ; 
Even  as  we  say  good-by  ; 

Good-by,  old  Walt  ! 

EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN. 
March  30,  1892. 


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